Audeamus
by Isabelle Sumner
Summary: Amidst the turbulence of revolution, the peace of a quiet town is disturbed when someone seemingly dead rises from the grave. Set in 1794, Europe. AU, no vampirism. BellaXEdward
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary: Amidst the turbulence of revolution, the peace of a quiet town is disturbed when someone seemingly dead rises from the grave.**_

Disclaimer: This is a sort of sequel to the Secrets trilogy. The tone in this story is a bit different from what I've written before. I'm a big lover of romantic adventures and action! (Think _The Sea _Hawk or _Prisoner of _Zenda). But what I enjoy most sometimes is just a whimsical story where you don't have to think too much. This is my take on that. One of my favorite heroes and characters of all times is Zorro. I grew up with Disney's Zorro and this fic has elements from that much-beloved show (which you do not have to have seen, of course).

You do not have to have read any of my other Angloa stories to understand this one. However, feel free to do so as they are all posted and complete.

I do not own any of the Twilight characters in this story. What I do own as my own creation is the country of Angloa and some side-characters.

* * *

_Preface_

Angloa is an island nestled off the western coast of France and Northern Spain. During the Middle Ages, it was an English colony until it gained its independence. After a bloody and intrigue-filled civil war at the start of the 16th century, Angloa began a golden age of prosperity and peace under its rulers that some would argue lasted for more than two hundred years.

At the end of the 18th century, tensions arise on the continent when revolts in France lead to the finality of its once powerful monarchy. Now, afraid that a similar occurrence might happen in their own countries, the European heads of state keep a close eye on their citizens, making sure such a rebellion does not take root in their own countries.

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chaper 1_

The deep whispers of a virgin woodland caressed her brow—warm gusts of an early summer wind gently made way through the thick forest roof. The scent of flowers, dew-covered grass and horse floated through the air as the early morning progressed.

Sprawled in the middle of a grass-covered plot of land, lay Isabella Swan. She stared up at the blue skies penetrating through the forest roof with soft clouds floating lazily, allowing rays of sun to pierce the leaf barrier ever so gently. The thin beams reached her, warmed her. The wind stirred again, rustling the leaves, ringing like music in her ears.

Raven's Grove sang to her, as it always had, as it always would.

Her horse gave out a muted snort as it kept eating the grass. The young woman breathed in deeply, wanting to stay in that forest forever. But a sense of duty—a knowing that she would be scolded by her parents if she did not return—made her get up.

She went over to the happy mare, nibbling away at the emerald straws of grass, avoiding the white flowers that dotted the green carpet. Yes, she and April could be very happy in Raven's Grove.

"Maybe we should stay, eh girl?" Isabella laughed; silly romantic thoughts of escaping the confinements of her home and delve into the forest formed once more in her mind. "Maybe we could stay here forever," she sighed, mostly to herself.

April's ear flicked at the sound of her owner's voice, but she paid her no heed. Isabella—or Bella, as she was known to those closest to her—shrugged her shoulders and mounted the white mare. She took one last look around the covered meadow. It was a secret place she went to whenever she wanted to escape. It was not too far deep into the vast forest, but it was out of the way of most big roads that snaked through it. It had no name. And since it was unknown, Bella had decided to name it herself; _The Embrace_. It truly felt like such, like she was continuously embraced by the forest itself as she lay in that meadow, cradled against its bosom.

April flicked her ears, irritated—she wanted to eat more of the delicious green grass. However, the heels in her side obliged her to do otherwise. Her powerful legs soon took her mistress away from her favorite place. The horse glided into a peaceful canter as she passed bushes and trees, already knowing which way to go. She felt her human relax in the saddle, making the mare relax as well.

They rode past an old abandoned hut, nestled between some trees with its red façade faded and blending into the canopy. They continued south, the dense trees seeming to move away as the forest opened up to them. Bella took another deep breath as her chocolate brown eyes opened up more. The wind tore at her loose hair, her green gown flowed around her legs as she rode astride—not the proper way for a young woman to ride; if Bella had ever cared. They continued past a small lake, still as a mirror, reflecting—for the first time—the blue sky with not a cloud in sight. Somewhere an owl hooted. Finally, in the distance, the town could be seen, its houses stretching almost like the tentacles of an octopus over a vast, green meadow, but never quite reaching the cliffside where the white castle Adelton Hall stood proud.

Bella rode on to Hayes, her countenance turning gloomy as she had no wish to return. Yet, it was a beautiful town with colorful houses grouped together, looking as if brought out from a fairy tale. April slowed down as they entered through the outer medieval walls that encircled the town. The horse settled into a small trot while they passed the first houses, aiming to reach the upper square close to the mayor's estate.

Bella's father owned a fine mansion with several floors and wide as a mansion could be. It was as much as a rich merchant could buy. She wrinkled her nose. The house was too big for the three of them, but her parents insisted; a few years back, her father had even purchased the title of a gentleman.

They were supposedly _fine folk_ now. Her father had even changed their family name from Seaver to Swan. It was a silly action, meant to mimic an aristocratic family that had been famous in the country several centuries earlier. The name _Swan_ played an important part in Angloan history.

She thought it in rather poor taste. The Swan name had long since died out in Angloa. However, it was still widely known—especially in Hayes and the province of Cadherra—that since during the fifteenth and start of the sixteenth century that distinguished family—the Swans—had been the lords of the land and lived in the castle Adelton Hall.

Her father had been schooled in proper etiquette and had gotten a taste of the finer things in life from an early age, which was why she supposed he wished to live in such excessive wealth and was why he had joined the gentry. But Bella would never ignore where she came from, where her family came from: seafarers, explorers—people with little nobility in their blood. She accepted that fact when her father wouldn't.

"Miss Swan, your father will be looking for you!" came a distant voice from the other side of the square. It was still early morning, only bakers, servants and other workers were up at this ungodly hour. She saw, in the distance, an old man sitting by a table, playing chess with himself: Stewart Simmons.

"Thank you, Mr. Simmons," she shouted back, snickering a little at him. He always meddled into other people's business.

Bella rode past the old medieval square and headed for the new one, deeper within the vast town. She passed the large stone statue of General Edward Cullen, once Count of Cadherra, the province in which they all lived. Nowadays he was the national hero. Cullen was the mysterious disfigured man, the underdog, the commoner who had died while fighting against a usurping queen almost three hundred years ago. He had helped place the rightful king on the throne and, thus, helped start the golden age of Angloa.

The statue depicting him sat astride its horse, looking down severely at the people of Hayes. She felt the eyes of the statue following her. Bella promptly hurried April on.

She passed some soldiers who had come home from a night patrol. Her heart skipped a beat, hoping they would not know she'd ridden alone into the forest.

They nodded as they saw her, acknowledging the young beauty while she passed them. Most charming smiles completely went past her. Bella had no interest in neither soldiers nor officers. Behind them a tall, fat and flustered sergeant tried to keep up, his rotund belly flopping up and down with every little step he took—his unshaven chins jiggling as the man did his best to give out a commanding air. Bella looked away, growing flustered at the sight of the poor, unkempt sergeant. She would never understand how he could continue being so big when he went out with so many patrols. The moment he saw her he stopped, letting the other soldiers continue forth in their proud, dark-green uniforms.

"Ah, Miss Swan, another excursion into Raven's Grove I see," he said in a pleasant baritone voice, his big brown eyes smiling gently at her. Her heart calmed when she saw the man. A smile dotted her face, something that always seemed to happen whenever she came upon the rotund sergeant.

"Oh, never that, Sgt. Thompson." Bella scoured their surroundings and then leaned in slightly with a mischievous smile growing on her face. "I would be much obliged if my morning rides did not reach the ear of your commanding officer. I shall make sure that Dory prepares another basket of her meat pies for you, and only you," she blinked.

Sgt. Thompson's face lit up at the mention of food, completely ignoring that it was bribery Bella was mentioning. He could already savor the juicy meat and the crumbly pie dough going down into his belly, accompanied by a cup or two of the innkeeper's best wine. Bella hid yet another upcoming laugh at the glazed expression in Thompson as thoughts of food coursed through his mind.

"You have my word, miss!" he exclaimed, saluting as he did so. There was no more exchange between them, and the sergeant turned around to catch up to his patrol, breathing heavily as his chubby legs took him slowly in the direction the other soldiers had walked. Bella leaned back in the saddle and gave away a satisfied chuckle before lightly touching her heels to April's sides.

They swiftly moved through Hayes and to the new square, up to her home. Bella dismounted and took April to the stables. She scraped her brown boots in the grass, getting rid of the worst muck as she stepped into the kitchens. The servants were already working away and Dory stood by the stove, cooking the meals for the day.

"Your parents are looking for you," Dory said as she motioned to the door at the other end of the room, leading to the stairs that would take Bella up to the next floor. She eyed the cook, her mouth was firm and her rosy cheeks didn't smile like usual.

"Are they very cross with me, Dory?"

The cook scoffed at the question, her gray curls jumping a little under the white cap that covered her head.

"Go on to your father, miss, before I give my own piece of mind," she said in her soft, motherly voice. Bella's lips turned into a thin line as she left the open space of the kitchen and proceeded to meet her fate. Going up the wooden stairs was hard, each step turned heavy—the boots seemed to weigh her down, imploring her not to go, to turn back and flee to Raven's Grove.

She stepped into a decorated hall. Dated Rococo furnishings were spread everywhere—white or light colored furnishings with contrasting damask or brocade patterns. Her mother had tried to keep the outdated house fashionable but it was an arduous process: neither mother nor daughter enjoyed much the childish pastel colors and the extensive furnishings of the previous owner. The big hall and some smaller rooms were the last to be remade. She avoided walking on the long rug cutting through the middle of the hall—as not to dirty it—gliding along the parquet floors to the sitting room, where her parents must be waiting, eating a very early breakfast.

Bella knocked gently on the door, hearing a muffled "come in" from the other side. She took a deep breath and pushed the tall French doors open, stepping into the room. It was a picturesque view. The room was large in size, decorated in modest and sleek furnishings in one color, not too heavily accented. Most furniture wasn't even painted, showcasing the natural color of the wood they had been crafted from; it added to the romantic naturalism her mother tried to achieve. It brought them "one step closer to nature" she would say.

Soft colors of mint green, light blue and an array of beiges settled into the foundations of the palette that had been carefully selected for the room. There was a round mahogany table at one end, some chairs in similar wood around it—usually used for playing cards or sitting down for a drink. A sleek piano forte in black stood next to the tall windows that looked down on the square. Heavy curtains in a mint green-blue draped around them. One window stood slightly ajar so that the late May air might sneak into the room.

A group of sleek couches and settees in beige stood on the ornate rug in the middle of the room—that was where her parents sat, talking in hushed voices as their daughter stepped forward.

Charles Swan took in the appearance of the young woman and frowned slightly.

Isabella Swan wore her hair down, the untamed chestnut locks had flown everywhere after her wild ride through the forest. Some smaller twigs and strands of grass were still stuck in it. Her cheeks were rosy from the fresh morning air, her eyes clear and awake, brightened by the exercise—a mischievous air in them that was not befitting a lady. Her dark green riding habit was wet in some places; along the back and shoulder area—where Bella had been resting in the dew-covered grass. The thick material of the skirt and jacket had managed to attract some dirt and twigs as well. Her dark brown boots were dirty, albeit the worst of the muck had been scraped off.

"What have I told you about riding out into Raven's Grove?!" Charles exclaimed, growing flustered as his dark mustache twitched in unison with his left eye.

"That I must refrain from such pointless excursions, papa. But in my defense, I was not seen and the exercise did me good," she said, smiling nonchalantly. Bella worked as much of her charm as possible on her father.

"You know there is a curfew, Bella!" he continued pacing. "If the mayor heard my own daughter was breaking it—"

"Mr. Wilson would not care," she countered, growing slightly flustered. "He cares not for any of this but sits by idly as—"

"Hush, Bella," her mother cut her off. "Think of him what you may, he is still the mayor of this town."

"Well, he should definitely start acting like one instead of letting Captain Forster run amuck all the time. I swear he fears that man," she muttered. Her words only made her father grow more flustered, to the point where no words would come out from his mouth.

"Gah!" he shouted in defeat, raising his arms and continuing to pace around the room. "You talk some sense into her, she is your daughter as well!" he said, motioning to Renée who sat silently in the beige couch. Her hands were folded in her lap, her back straight—posture unfaltering. Her eyebrow rose slightly as she turned to look at her daughter.

"Your father has a point, Isabella," her mother said in a softer voice, using her daughter's full name to show the severity of the situation.

Bella sighed and gave up her lighthearted air, knowing her parents were right—to some degree. The nineteen-year-old looked down at herself for the first time and frowned.

"It is not fair," she said after a while, sounding more like a little girl than the grown woman that she was. "It is not fair that I cannot ride or walk wherever I please." Renée's eyes turned sad at her daughter's words. Charles, however, ignored them.

"You are the daughter of a gentleman now, your mother is a lady: distinguished ladies do not go on morning rides like such, even more so when it is illegal. If you had been seen coming from the forest, someone could have informed the commandant of the garrison and it would bode badly for all of us," Charles said in a severe tone. "He arrested the miller's son last week for badmouthing one of his soldiers. We cannot provoke him!"

Indeed, his words were true. In the province of Cadherra as in most of the country of Angloa—an island off the coast of Northern Spain and Western France—curfews had been placed. The townsfolk and peasants were regulated by the high lords and king; afraid that if they got together, a revolution like the one in France would take place—that the people would rebel and overthrow the monarchy. It had not been one year since Marie Antoinette, queen of France, had followed her husband to the dreaded guillotine, executed by her own people. A small yet powerful part of the aristocracy in Angloa had taken an iron grip over the people of the country and suppressed them as best as they could, thinking it was the answer, thinking the laws and regulations set as far back as in the sixteenth century were too relaxed and dangerous.

Hayes was no different. Ten years ago, an army was dispatched to every town in the country to _discipline_ the people. However, it was more of a policing force than an army. They were the _Royal Guard_, dispatched by the king. The Royal Guard was a newly trained force, replacing what had before been a small and localized militia with little power in their towns. The new Guard held more authority and more power, answering directly to the king and his advisors instead of a particular branch of the government as had been the case before.

Yet, such power and authority had given way to power-hungry officials to do as they pleased in the towns they resided. Usually, the civil administration would be enough to rile them in. The mayors of the towns would be able to keep a chain on the officers and soldiers of the Royal Guard.

In this case, Mayor Lionel Wilson was as passive as they came. He did not fight the behavior of the soldiers and many suspected it was because he feared them. The soldiers took whatever liberty they wanted—their commandant, Captain John Forster, lived like royalty. He commanded his own little kingdom, ruling as a monarch within his own domain.

Not even the Count of Cadherra, Lord Newton, seemed too worried with what went on in his province. Indeed, it had been two years since he had retired to the fashionable capital of Safeira and never looked back.

"If Captain Forster finds out, your father could be thrown into prison in your stead," Renée said, trying to convey the severity of her actions. "Many have been imprisoned for less."

"Captain Forster cares little about my actions, I am sure he is already aware of my excursions. If he is, he has not done anything about them, if he is not, then the case is closed," Bella reasoned. "Besides, he has no right to keep us in our houses, just as Count Newton has no right to demand such outrageous taxes in the name of the king—we all know he takes a generous share for himself—"

"Enough!" her father cried. "I will hear no more. You will go to your room and wash up. I want you to behave, Isabella. I've had word that a new and distinguished family is about to move into Hayes. I've invited them over for dinner later this week and you will attend it," he said, stopping his pacing.

"Guests?"

"You will soon know who they are," Charles said enigmatically. "In due time."

"If it is another one of those fops you intend to have me wed, I will spare you any energy and effort now—I will not marry," she sneered and walked out the room, dragging her feet behind her.

Once the tall doors to the sitting area were closed, Renée sent a quiet and accusing look to her husband. "How did you even know she had ridden to Raven's Grove unless you have her under surveillance?" Renée asked accusingly.

"Mr. Simmons has a great eye for these kinds of things," Charles muttered, turning red with embarrassment as he confessed to having someone keeping an eye on his daughter.

"Oh, Charlie," Renée sighed, but said nothing else.

Meanwhile, Bella made her way to her chambers, her hands in fists, muttering to herself. She was growing angrier by the minute toward her father, the situation she found herself in and everything in general.

It was horrible that Hayes should be under the command of someone like Captain Forster. That Mr. Wilson, who represented the civilians, did not raise a finger in protest was even worse. The town was in a dire situation. It saw daily imprisonments and the people were bled dry from the taxes placed by Newton, who was rumored to live better than the king himself. They consoled themselves with the fact that he was never in Hayes or Adelton Hall, and could thus not directly torment them.

And the king was no better; the man ignored his people's cry for help, too afraid to see them rise up against him. The commoners suffered as the rich grabbed whatever they could from them—subduing them as best as they were able. They should keep quiet and know their place or feel the burn of the whip, or the hangman's noose. Many had already paid with their lives in larger cities for speaking up against the aristocrats and lords who ruled the country. She was disgusted that her father wanted to be a part of them. However, Hayes remained quiet and distant from the worst of the violence; or so many in Hayes believed. The people chose to suffer in silence and poverty, reasoning it was better to do so than to have an uprising that might kill most of them.

She arrived in her chambers and sat down on the unmade bed with a sigh. Bella removed her riding jacket and went to open the doors to the balcony, facing the garden. She stepped out and breathed the air. Even though she considered the gardens to be beautiful, they were nothing to the untamed beauty of the forest she longed to roam.

The neatly trimmed hedges and perfect rose bushes—seeing the blooming red and white roses open up to the early morning sun—were still confined by the hand of man. Even the grand weeping willow at the end of the garden, hanging over the small pond, had her long for the big lake within the woods. The wilderness of Raven's Grove spoke more to her than Hayes ever could. She loved to feel April stretch her legs under her as she loosened the reins, the canter turning into a wild gallop as horse and human became one; the greenery of the forest becoming a blur as they sailed past it. Bella leaned against the tall doorframe of the small balcony and dreamed of her latest excursion. She could see the tall, dark trees in the distance, screaming for her to come, for her to escape and return to the bosom of the woods—where she belonged.

While Charles and Renée Swan did everything they could to keep up the appearance of upper society and finesse, Bella distanced herself from it. She did not despise it and acknowledged that her family was lucky to be so financially stable. But all the rules and regulations, all that falsehood, the restraining clothes—everything—did not appeal to her. The same could be said for the men that her father had tried to force her to marry. They were all the same, fashionable dandies who had never done a hard day's work in their lives. Fops who did not know the true meaning of love, only that of rank, status and money. Her family was rich, but not even money could get them to where her father wanted to go. He wanted to be high up in society. He reached for the sun—like Icarus, and Bella was afraid that one day he might reach too far and fall.

As she shed her skirt, letting it fall in a muted pile on the rug, she wondered who he wanted her to marry this time. Ever since her seventeenth birthday—two years ago—every month or so, her father had taken several proposals of marriage from young men of noble birth, interested in his daughter's dowry more than in her. But even though Bella was a beauty, albeit not the conventional fair beauty that was so sought after, she managed well in scaring most of them away. All she had to do was open her mouth and speak for five minutes before most of them turned on their heel and never looked back. Some had been harder to get rid of during the years, but she was resilient and always managed to make them take back their offer. Her father had grown sour at that and now she knew that he would do all he could to see this marriage through.

"Miss, may I be of service?" came the hesitant voice of her chambermaid through the cracked door. Bella turned from the garden to face the maid.

"No, thank you, Sara, I can dress myself," she said. "But I would love to have someone accompany me to the market in a few hours, I need to buy extra meat for Dory," she continued, a small smile spreading on her delicate lips. Sara smiled with her.

"Is it for making meat pies?"

"I promised Sgt. Thompson a whole basket of them," she responded, making Sara utter a small chuckle.

"I will meet you by the main gate then, shall we say at nine?" the maid asked, receiving a nod and closing the door after her.

* * *

"I want the best meals prepared for the upcoming dinner, Dory, we will be having some _very_ distinguished guests in our company," Charles said as he strolled around the kitchen, looking at the lineup of the kitchen maids, with the cook at the front.

"That is what you always say whenever you have guests, Mr. Swan, sir," Dory said, not afraid to give him her piece of mind.

"Erhm, yes, perhaps I do," Charles said, muttering a little to himself. "But I want you to outdo yourself this time. Make no fuss about it," he finally said, walking away and leaving them alone. The guests were to dine with them in a couple of days and already the kitchen staff needed to prepare for the upcoming feast.

"I bet it is another intended for Miss Swan," one of the kitchen maids said.

"Poor thing, she never gets a moment's peace," another one put in with sadness in her tone.

"Hush now! We have a lot of work and preparation to do for the day after tomorrow. I want some of you to run down to the market immediately and get me the best you can find. Lorraine, Joanne, you two go. Take Robert with you, he will help you carry the heavier load." Dory shouted commands like second nature. The kitchen staff settled into a practiced pace, running around in controlled chaos.

Lorraine and Joanne, two young women in the service of the Swan's, fetched Robert, the stablemaster, and headed for the market. They strolled through the street, the morning still young, and few people yet to rise.

The narrow streets let little sunshine in as the tall wood and stone buildings reached for the sky. The cobblestone made it tricky to walk sometimes. Joanne, clumsier than the rest, tripped several times before they reached the marketplace.

However, if most of Hayes seemed yet to awake, the marketplace was bustling with life, as if the whole of town had come there.

"Hopefully something will be left," Robert mumbled, staring in defeat at the people fighting over the food. The prices on most things there were ridiculously high due to the taxes placed on the poor merchants. They had little to offer, and it was always the first and earliest people that managed to get the best deal.

"Dory will kill us if we come back empty-handed," Lorraine sighed, the oldest of the three. She took charge and sent each of them to get supplies for the dinner. Eggs, wine, meats, and other things were needed. Herbs could be found in the garden, together with some vegetables. But spices and fruits were harder to find and usually very expensive.

* * *

The morning progressed, the market saw more and more people. Bella would have been dismayed by such a sight if it were not for the fact that she loved to bargain.

"Smell that, Sara?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Sara wrinkled her nose and let her shoulders sink to the ground at the sheer amount of people there. "Rotten fish and waste?"

"No, opportunity! Come, let us go to Jenkins, he might still have some venison left," she said, nearing the stall of the butcher. Before long, Bella had some packets of freshly caught game, something she'd manage to get for a good price. Sara was always intrigued by how the young woman could be so good with words. The way she expressed herself, all charm and smiles, together with a cool head, made for a most dangerous and mischievous type of person, or so Sara thought.

"Miss Swan!" came a shout to their left. Through the masses, they spotted a dismantled Lorraine, her bark blonde hair all messy underneath her cap, her thin cape a tangled mess and a look of solemn defeat on her face.

"Lorraine, what on earth are you doing here, on market day? Did mama not send you out at the start of the week for supplies?" Bella asked, taking in the poor appearance of the servant.

"Aye, but your _father_," she muttered with some contempt in her voice, "wanted the best for the guests that are to dine with you the day after tomorrow."

Bella let her hand waft in the air as a laugh followed her amused snort. "Oh, why bother? We all know who they are and that we will not see them soon again," she bemused them. "I assure you that you should not put that much effort into this whole ordeal."

Bella had no inclination on even going to that dinner. If she could help it, she would rather take April that evening and ride downtown to meet one of her closest friends, Jacob Black.

Lorraine, however, did not look amused. "I wish you would not so blatantly throw aside our efforts, miss! You know very well we have no choice in the matter as it is your father that employs us. If he wants the best the market can offer, then we must get it for him."

"Oh, I understand fully, Lorraine. But at least you do not have to be pushed around and meet man after man, the next worse than the first." A hand came to massage her temple, Bella now spoke more to herself than to the two women by her side. "It is so vexing having to see all these gentlemen, seeing them try so hard to mask their foppishness or their petty nature. I swear I cannot stomach seeing another one of them," she muttered. Sara put a hand over her mouth and tried to stifle a laugh.

Bella arched an eyebrow. "See, Lorraine, my suffering amuses some," she snarked as she cast a glance at the maid.

"Sorry, I could not help it. It is just that a picture of Mr. Yorkie was conjured up in my mind and the laughter overcame me," she said, a blush touching her cheeks. The moment Sara mentioned Eric Yorkie, the other two felt a chuckle escape them as well.

"I cannot fault you for that, Sara," Bella agreed. Eric Yorkie, or simply Mr. Yorkie as they would call him, was a peculiar man. A year past he had come all the way from Coldwick with recommendations to seek her hand. He had been in correspondence with her father and Charles Swan had taken a liking to the way Eric expressed himself in writing.

But, upon his arrival, that fondness soon died away. Eric was the most monotone and boring man they ever saw. His wanting of character was so great that Bella would amuse herself in playing small jokes on him. But the man remained untouched by her small attempts at coaxing any reaction from him. It was only when her mother mentioned the tending of the gardens that Mr. Yorkie's face lit up. He spent three hours boring them with speeches of botany and general gardening. When he left them, a fortnight later, Charles swore he would never again invite someone who he had not met in person first.

After Mr. Yorkie's failed attempt at seduction, the whole house came alive with imitations of his steady monotonous tone, only to be changed whenever the mention of plants was brought up. His memory was well and alive in their minds and they all were glad he was gone.

"Are there more with you?" Bella asked, disrupting their recall of such a peculiar young man.

"Joanne and Robert have wandered into the throng. I hope they come out of there alive—"

Her sentence was cut short when a commotion could be heard over the masses. The three turned to the fountain of the square. Bella's heart jumped as she saw Billy Black with a gruesome look upon his face.

He was, like her father, a wealthy merchant, living in Hayes. His grandfather had traveled from the New World, ready to make his fortune in Angloa. However, it was his son who caught some interest in her.

Bella had grown up with Jacob Black. But as they grew older, she had forced a wall against him. She was afraid, of course, of getting too attached to him as he had made no inclination of holding any feelings toward her.

Jacob was indeed as handsome as they came, with tan skin and hair as black as night. His dark eyes would always tantalize her and draw her in. But the charming nature in which he spoke and the fact that he was well versed in matters of the world, held her interest in him. Alas, Jacob and his family—even though rich, were not gentry; much like her own family. And her father was so decided she marry into the aristocracy that she kept no hope of ever forming an acquaintance beyond that of close friendship. However, Bella was happy that she was still allowed that friendship which had been growing strong over the years.

But her nerves seemed on alert as she spotted another face in the crowd. He bore the uniform with such pride that she feared his protruding chest might make him fall over. Captain Forster stared at Billy with a frown, backed by many of his men. The square went quiet, the people dispersed as the commotion grew, claiming all their attention. Bella stared, her mouth open in dreading anticipation—what was Mr. Black doing?

"Since your master does not come down here, why don't you tell him the misery _his _taxes are provoking the good people of this town? How can a piece of bread be two crowns? It is unacceptable, they should be a tenth of that price considering that is almost double the daily allowance of most workers in this town!" he exclaimed in such indignation that many in the surrounding crowd had to nod in agreement. They did not know what had spurred his little conversation with the captain, but Bella knew it was long coming. The steady raising of the taxes, the people who left town and decided to go and grow their own food, the revolutionary thoughts that had started invading the island—it all led to this moment. But Mr. Black was foolish to openly speak against a man of the Royal Guard. Foolish but brave.

"I would tread carefully next, Mr. Black. You speak against taxes, thus you speak against the king himself. Such could be constituted as treason," Forster drawled in a slow and steady tone. His voice was cool, but the expression on his face made Bella and her friends tremble where they stood.

Billy turned to the crowd, ignoring completely the words of the captain. He seemed to have lost his fright, for he showed no sign of stepping away. "We all suffer in our own ways—rich or poor, it matters not. If I am barely making ends meet, then how are the rest faring? How can we accept such injustice?" he spoke to them. The crowd was too afraid to openly agree, but some few could not help but nod, even if it was just a tick of their head.

Forster's icy gray eyes turned into two small slits and his brow furrowed. "Arrest him," he said in a monotonous voice that provoked a faint chill in Bella. She looked from the soldiers to Mr. Black and her hands turned into fists as she watched the scene unfold.

It was not unfamiliar to her. This had happened many times before. Every so often, someone would have enough. Some would lose all sense of propriety and speak up, just as Mr. Black had. He was certain he would escape jail with a small fine to his name. Unfortunately, others took to the road and became thieves or highwaymen. These were desperate times.

"On what charge?" Mr. Black demanded, knowing well he would be safely back home in a few hours—for causing public unrest was not a serious crime.

"Treason," Forster said, a smile curling on his lips.

A collective gasp sounded through the crowd as the day seemed to come to a halt. Bella could not believe what she was hearing. Treason? It was unthinkable that Mr. Black would be involved in such a thing.

"Treason? What on earth have I done that constitutes treason?" He was angry when he should've been worried. Treason was punishable by death.

"Forster will have him killed if he does not back down. The prideful fool," Robert muttered worriedly under his breath, joining the women. "We should leave, lest we are seen in this company." He had searched for Lorraine when the conversation between Black and Forster took a turn for the worse. If Forster was charging Black for treason, he would hurl out similar charges to people who had witnessed the ordeal.

"We cannot go, Robert! We are testimonies to Mr. Black's good character and innocence!" Lorraine and Sara exclaimed. Bella could not agree more.

"Do not worry, Forster is only putting on a performance, many are witness to this. Mr. Black will be proven innocent in a court of law," she told them. But the young woman had little faith in their current judiciary system. Some judges and prosecutors were of good character, but many obeyed the wishes of the man who paid most.

"You have tried to rally the good people of Hayes against us and against the king." Forster motioned for some soldiers to come. "Jack, Daniel, take him to the garrison," the captain smiled. The curl of his mouth offered Bella such a wicked view of the man that she had to turn around.

"We should go!" Robert continued as Joanne finally found them.

"He is right, miss, you should not be seen here." Joanne agreed. "There is little we can do now." Joanne tried to cheer her up. "But as you say, there hasn't been a public execution in Hayes in years, I am certain it will continue that way—"

"We didn't have Captain Forster before," Sara whispered, staring at the ground. "Oh, I miss Captain Clarke!"

Bella stared grimly at the aging man, his long, graying black hair tied in a low ponytail. She could only hope Billy had enough money to pay off the judge.

"Have faith that all will be resolved away from the prying eye of the public," Robert whispered close to her. "Forster and Mr. Black are both stubborn and prideful. I am sure the matter will be arranged."

Bella could not see herself wholly convinced. She felt at a loss, however, for the young woman did not know to whom she could turn. Few in Hayes would lift a finger to combat a man such as Forster.

"Let us make haste then," she said reluctantly. "For I suspect my father wants you back with good news of a successful day at the market." Bella turned to face them, feeling guilty as her back faced the confrontation between Mr. Black and the guards. She was like the rest of them, afraid to speak up due to the consequences.

"I would appreciate if you did not mention my presence here to my father," she said in a muted voice. Bella was disappointed with herself—with her cowardice.

"Fear not, we shall be more silent than a grave," Lorraine offered. She gently ushered the young woman to the townhouse, casting a glance back at Mr. Black. Something unnerving settled in her stomach as she caught sight of Forster's eyes. Lorraine knew it was best to keep Isabella Swan shielded from such a nasty world and the inhabitants it held. She did not need to know what could happen next to Billy.

* * *

The rest of the morning, Bella kept to the confinements of her home—her mother had started keeping a keen eye on her, lest the spirited young woman ran for the forest again.

Bella spent the early afternoon in the kitchen, helping Dory and the other maids. The kitchen was her escape at home. Even if she was worried for Mr. Black, having Dory speak in such gentle tones and guiding her whilst she prepared the meat pies, soon made Bella relax. By the end of the afternoon, Bella had told herself countless times that Mr. Black would be alright—today he would be released from the garrison and rejoin his family. Or so she hoped.

Renée found her daughter covered from top to toe in flour and specks of whisked yolks. The mother stifled a laugh as she ordered Bella to follow her to her chambers. Although the young woman did look whimsical and delightful—even in specks of food—it would not do for her to be so unpresentable for dinner.

A bath was drawn, steaming hot and Bella sank down into the water. The windows to her balcony were opened, the fragrance of the garden wandered in with the soft summer breeze. She settled back, taking in the stillness of the moment.

Thoughts of Raven's Grove wandered into her mind, of herself roaming those woods, of the romantic aspect the forest held for her. How she longed to return to that world.

"Seems I've caught you dreaming again, miss," came the smiling voice of Sara as she entered her chamber. The maid held some towels and placed them next to Bella.

"I'm always dreaming," Bella sighed. "It will be my undoing." She understood that she was not a fairly agreeable young girl, with her head always in the clouds.

"It is what gets us through the day," Sara giggled.

Bella stepped out of the bath and wrapped the towel securely around her, shivering slightly as the wind caressed her wet skin.

"So what was it this time?"

"Raven's Grove," Bella said with a blush growing on her cheeks. "A place that is most unsuitable for a lady," she paused, a wicked grin splattered across her features. "Not that I am much of a lady anyways," she laughed.

Sara helped Bella get dressed as they continued speaking of their dreams and hopes together. Although Sara's exclamations were more naïve, Bella did not disagree with the young woman. But the moment she started talking of a man—of being swept off her feet—Bella wrinkled her nose.

As Sara fastened the robe around her frame, she could see the disagreement on her young mistress' face.

"You do not wish for someone to spring into your life and completely take your breath away?" she asked in blissful innocence. Sara only repeated what the other maids would speak of. However, it sounded so very agreeable that she herself wished to have such an experience.

"Not from the men I've seen here in Hayes," Bella murmured. Her heart ached at the thought—would there ever come a time when she would ever be swept off her feet? Perhaps; there was one she might not object to. Jacob Black sprung to mind. But even if he was pleasant and courteous—he did not make her heart flutter, nor her knees weak. She did not wish to think more of such things, seeing as her father was now determined to marry her off before the end of the summer.

"I don't have a lot of say in the matter anyway," was what her father would think. But Bella would be damned if he thought she would so easily submit to yet another one of his proposals.

Sara remained quiet on the subject as she straightened out the elegant muslin gown. She guided the young woman to a chair and started arranging her loose chestnut tresses into a twisted bun, with the hair directly atop of her head slightly puffed up. A curled lock was placed over her shoulder—a tease of what long tresses might be confined atop of her head.

Bella saw her reflection in the full-length mirror and looked away. It was not her. She only saw someone uncomfortable with herself, not knowing what to do in such finery. A modest pearl necklace decorated her neckline. The sleeves of the gown were short, showing her slender arms and pale skin.

Sara came to stand next to her. "There we are," she smiled. Both took in the woman in the blue dress. "You look lovely, Miss Swan."

Bella had little she could say in return. The evening seemed to be upon them and before she had gotten used to her own appearance, Sara said she could go down to the foyer to greet her parents and receive her father's approval.

Charles wanted to sit down to a nice dinner and converse with his family. Neither Bella nor Renée questioned the sudden eagerness for such an extravagant evening. They guessed he wished to go over everything before their guests arrived. Practice everything, like a stage play.

They spoke little, Bella kept playing with her food in boredom as Renée tried to strike a conversation. When the subject suddenly changed to that morning's occurrences, she straightened in her chair—now this interested her indeed.

"Did you hear what happened to Mr. Black earlier today?" Renée asked as she frowned. Bella was amazed that the news had reached her mother's ears so quickly. Charles' lips turned into a thin line as he pierced the juicy beef with his fork.

"Hmm, yes. Unfortunate, but avoidable if you ask me," he responded. It was a subject he'd rather not dwell on. Charles, as much as anyone, was not blind to the injustices they suffered at the hands of the soldiers and Forster. He had even, at one point, brought it up to Mr. Wilson who insisted his hands were tied. Thus, he decided it was safer to keep a low profile than blatantly arguing with the man himself on the street.

"Mr. Black only spoke the truth," Bella muttered as a pea escaped her fork, skidding across the white tablecloth, ending up at her father's side. A sound of displeasure escaped him as he eyed the invasive pea.

"And it cost him a nice dinner with his family tonight. I am certain he will be out in the morning," Charles said. But the three of them remained silent at his statement. For some reason, it felt different this time. They wondered if that would be the case. Mr. Black had been kept in the garrison for the entire day, which was unusual. Most would be released a few hours after their imprisonment if their crime was light and their pockets full. Bella worried that the accusations of treason had taken root—that Forster had managed to build a case against the sweet old merchant.

She was about to argue about the matter. No one had been allowed to see Mr. Black during the whole of his imprisonment, not even his family. She thought they should step in before Forster went too far. But she was promptly cut off by a loud bang. It reverberated through the dining room in an explosion, extending like a wave through the city.

Bella dropped her fork while Renée jumped in her seat. Charles violently spilled his wine all over himself and the tablecloth as he turned around, facing the window.

"What on earth?" he exclaimed as he rose from his chair, rushing over to the large French doors going to the balcony facing the square below them. More shots soon followed, accompanied by loud shouts of anger and chaos.

Bella's face was a mask of conflicting emotion—surprise, fear, and eagerness. What on earth was going on outside of their house?

She followed her father to the balcony without thinking. "Bella, get back inside this instant!" her mother exclaimed behind her, afraid her only daughter might be caught by a rogue bullet. But the young woman paid her no heed.

Gunshots were not common in Hayes. Open confrontations were even less so. The soldiers held a trained grip on the people—any open rebellion was extinguished before it could even begin.

"It's the garrison!" she exclaimed, standing next to Charles. Renée soon joined them as—in the distance—they discerned the guards moving around in a frenzy, chasing around someone in the black of night. Her heart caught in her throat as the thunder of hooves echoed across the desolate streets.

"Follow him! I shall have you whipped if he escapes, sergeant!" came the angry cry from the distance.

Bella quickly turned back and rushed inside of the house. She tracked through the hallways, running with her dress flying after her. Her heart could not match her erratic steps as her pace increased with each breath. She mounted the staircase two steps at a time, rushing up like a madwoman. A startled maid jumped out of her way as she pushed onward.

When Bella reached the attic, she forced the window open. Their house was quite large, and tall. It stretched toward the sky like an unforgiving tower, defying gravity. The wind was rough and cold here, tearing at her tresses, curls, and locks falling out of the constricting pins. Her cheeks were red. The exercise had given a healthy glow to her face.

She was in the process of catching her breath—her eyes narrowed as they searched the confinements of the city—of who had just managed to escape the prison in the garrison. The hooves still sounded like thunder on that moonless night.

But then she saw them. On the outskirt of Hayes, leading toward Raven's Grove she saw two shadowy figures riding magnificent horses. She could discern none of them, but the last rider caught her eye. The horse was large and black as night—as much was evident even from a distance. Its rider looked like another shadow mounted on it, gripping it with an assuredness she had never seen in anyone before.

The shadows soon headed for the forest that she had come to know so and they were soon swallowed by the trees. The wind ripped at her as the guards followed suit. But she knew that both riders were safe. Raven's Grove would protect them.

* * *

**A/N: Hi! Thank you for reading this first chapter. As I mentioned at the start of this story, there is a trilogy (_Secrets of the Court, The Broken Throne_ and _The Weight of a Crown_) taking place in the same universe only during the 16th century that I will mention at times (which you do not have to have read to follow this fic of course!). **

**I also want to point out that English isn't my first language, it's my third. Therefore, there might be some misuse of certain words (I have a big difficulty with prepositions in general, it's a work in progress!). If you see any faults, please let me know, I always appreciate a head's up.**

**I listen to a lot of music when I write. Like a lot of music. It is what inspires me. In fact, this whole plot and its concept were inspired by one song (it's usually soundtracks that I listen to). I have made a channel and there I've made different playlists to the songs I listen to for a specific fic (I have now also made playlists for my other Twilight fics). I will link the playlists on my profile if you are interested in listening to the music. I cannot do it here as FF will not allow you to copy anything. You can also find the playlist on my Tumblr: isabellesumnerff /./ tumblr /./ com**

**Finally, those of you who read the Secrets trilogy and decided to endure another fic with me, welcome back! This will only be one fic, so not another trilogy!**

**Thank you again for reading, leave a review if you enjoyed it!**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	2. Chapter 2

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 2_

Hayes had grown the last few hundred years. But still, few things would happen in the city that would arouse such a scandal as what occurred the previous night.

Billy Black had escaped the confinements of the garrison with the aid of an unknown person.

Who, how or why were still the most relevant questions that people pondered. Bella had been up all night, unable to sleep after what she had witnessed—which was an impossible act. No one could just waltz into the garrison and rescue a man as had been done the previous night.

People were amazed. But what many also spoke of was Mr. Black's imprisonment. The charges were unjust: treason. He had been given the news later that day when Forster himself had thrown him into a cell. It seemed paying off the guard was not an option anymore. A quick trial had been set for that very evening of his imprisonment, without alerting Mr. Black's family or close friends. No one knew that behind the closed doors of the garrison, a judge—Mr. Fields—had come in and in the space of a few minutes he had sentenced the poor Mr. Black to hang.

Billy was all astonishment at first. But that it was kept a secret from the rest of Hayes, he never knew. Forster had spoken of justice and the virtue of the law. Hayes did not need a rebel to add to the mix. Angloa was a proper and loyal country to its monarch. Billy understood that he was being silenced. His death would only further the iron grip Forster and his guards held over Hayes—as was the case in many other places of Angloa—but perhaps it was ignored by the people of the county how much power Forster truly held over them.

More people had been brought to the garrison the following morning of Billy's escape. One of them was Jacob Black, under the suspicion that he had rescued his father in some sort of disguise. The mouths of the town would not stop talking of young Mr. Black's arrest.

Bella found herself in the parlor of one of her family's friends. The Stanley's were a rich family, much more so than hers. They were very well off in society. The father was a distinguished gentleman with a great income from his many estates. The mother was a socialite from the capital Safeira, who had spent some time in the merchant city of Wessport and even France before the fall of the _Ancien Régime_. Their daughter lived up to her family's grandeur by being as insufferable as her parents.

She would every so often invite Bella Swan over, but only because her mother made her. The Swans were wealthy as well, and had a title; even if purchased. Even if the Stanleys did not like it, they had to accept them into their circles. It was only wanting of them.

Bella knew she was never liked there. To make them all comfortable, she would usually keep her thoughts to herself, sipping her tea and never open her mouth. Jessica Stanley seemed to like that very much.

"I heard the blackguard managed to wound at least five guards before making off with Mr. Black!" said Angela Webber, a handsome young woman with a strong mind for gossip and little sense of her own propriety.

"Did you hear the judge had sentenced him to hang at dawn? I wonder indeed what plot that man might've been involved in. I, for one, am glad we are under such gallant protection by our local guard," Jessica said with horror on her delicate features, fanning herself fervently as she sipped her tea with a smug expression soon taking hold.

Bella's lips pressed together as she gripped the cup harder, biting her tongue and bidding her time.

"Do you really think he plotted treason openly on the market square?" Angela asked with blissful innocence.

"What else would he have been doing? Did he have a reason not to?"

"I believe Mr. Black was only speaking out against the raised taxes," Bella finally put in. Her mind was spinning, the eyes unable to take in the excessive decorations in the parlor. There was too much lace, too many layers of fabric that blocked the fresh air from properly entering the space. Her head felt too thick with the heavy waft of the other ladies' perfume. Perhaps that was why she did not think properly as she continued to speak.

"And he did not speak treason. The people in Hayes are being unjustly treated. Why, how on earth can we accept that Billy Black was sentenced to hang so quickly after having been imprisoned?" she said with such fervor that the others found themselves unable to speak out at first.

"Miss Swan, that is highly inappropriate!" Jessica finally dared, fanning herself with such passion that Bella thought her arm would positively detach from her body.

The other women kept silent. But Bella would not keep her mouth shut. "Oh, indeed it might seem so, dear Miss Stanley." She got up from her seat, happy she had an excuse to leave. "But while you ponder on who _rescued _Billy Black yesterday, I, like many others, now worry for those having been taken into custody in his stead," she snapped. Bella turned away with a swirl of her taffeta gown and left the ladies with their words of malice latched in their throats. The young girl was out of the room before they could hurl any insults of their own.

"Why the nerve!" Bella heard behind her as the tall French doors closed, bringing a smile to her lips. While the ladies sat speculating around their tea and sugary cookies, she would investigate. She told the footman to bring her _siège_. But Bella would not return home. She would instead venture to town, to see if she could not visit a dear friend.

The small carriage took her through the picturesque mansion-lined streets and toward the bustling center of town, still medieval in its construction. The garrison was a large building that did not stand too far from the big main square. It was a large brick building that had been built in the mid-17th century. It was square in size, a large doorway giving entrance to a courtyard housed in the middle of the garrison. There were several strategic positions and small turrets placed for sentinels. Four guards stood posted by the main gate, instead of the usual two. It seemed Forster had taken precautions—in case someone decided to save Jacob Black as well. She thought the action a paradox. For, if Jacob Black had been the one to save his father, then why would someone save Jacob Black? No, Bella was sure Forster did not know the true identity of the rescuer.

She told the driver to stop the carriage just off the gate. The young woman descended upon the cobblestone. She had to stretch her neck to get a full view of the tall building. The more she looked at it, the more it seemed impossible to perform such a rescue. But another commotion in the main square suddenly caught her attention. The soldiers were building something in full vigor. Wooden planks were being assembled to something that looked eerily like gallows. Her mouth dropped as she realized Jacob must've received the same sentence as his father.

Bella wasted no time and went to the front of the garrison. But all four guards would not let her enter. She saw Jacob in one of the outside cells, lined against the inner wall of the courtyard. It was a strange place to keep a prisoner of such high caliber—if he had indeed rescued Billy the previous night. Forster must be using him as bait.

Bella went to the only place she could think of to get her much valuable information. The Tavern by the main square: _The Laughing Goose_. A silly name for a tavern. It was not only unfashionable—for it could well belong in a small village belonging to the Middle Ages—it looked the part as well. But it was much beloved by the people of central Hayes. The owner was a stout woman in her late fifties, having taken over the place after the death of her husband. She was built like a barrel and was the heartiest woman Bella knew. All called her Little Lucy, the name invoking such irony that those who had yet to meet her, would usually drop their mouth to the ground once they caught sight of the pudgy and tall woman. All were allowed in her tavern, rich or poor, man or woman; Lucy didn't care or mind. She held a firm grip over the inn and ruled justly over her own little kingdom while making sure no fights erupted and taking care that her patrons got home safe as it closed at the end of a long day.

Bella was always welcomed into the tavern for two reasons. The first was that Little Lucy liked the spirited young girl. They would hold very interesting conversations at times. Lucy would bring Bella into a world she scarcely knew—of grotesque jokes, witty comments and amazing tales of traveling the country. Lucy brought Bella away from the mundane life in Hayes. But she was also welcomed for she would usually see to it that the ever-growing bills of a certain someone were paid in full.

Sgt. Thompson loved The Laughing Goose because it had the best meals and wine in the area. The beer was not too shabby there either. It was there he would go whenever he got his monthly pay. And he would usually spend it within the fortnight. So, whenever Miss Swan showed up there to see Little Lucy, he would light up. He knew the girl would take kindly to him and help him out with his rather big monetary problems.

And, in exchange, when Thompson had had a little too much to drink, he would be open to answering any question the young woman could coax out of him.

Bella walked into the first floor of the tavern. It was still before noon and so, not a lot of people frequented it now. When Lucy saw her, she waved her to come over. The thought of a young woman of a rich and distinguished family entering a tavern such as The Laughing Goose was never frowned upon by the townspeople—at least not _most _of them.

"Hey, there she is!" shouted Lucy with her strong voice. Her curly, strawberry blonde hair rested like a bird's nest atop of her head, graying strands peeking out here and there. Her face was dusted with flour. She must've been baking during the morning.

"Mrs. Berg," Bella curtsied with a charming smile on her face. She always lit up whenever she saw her beloved Lucy. The older woman snorted and frowned.

"I'll have none of that _Mrs. Berg_ shit," she swore. "Lucy, I've told ya!" she grinned, one corner tooth missing.

"Dear Lucy, it is positively too early in the day to be swearing so," Bella said, mocking offense.

"Tryin' to make me an honest woman?" Lucy asked, her grin growing wider as she poured a cup of apple juice—Bella's favorite.

"I would never dare," Bella exclaimed in a faint laugh, accepting the cup and indulging in the sweet liquid. She was grateful that the juice washed away the bitter taste of tea that she'd had to endure at the Stanley's. Bella had never been much for tea. She looked around, expecting to see a familiar face. All she saw was the light space of the tavern. She was by the bar, the windows looking out on the square lit up the whole room. At the back of it, tall windows brought in even more light. The dark wood with which the interior had been decorated in did little to light up the place otherwise. Candles had been placed spontaneously on a few tables. Lucy never bothered much in changing them and the wax had already started spilling on the worn and darkened wood. But otherwise, the older woman made sure to keep the place spotless. A few of the servers who worked there took away some plates from eating customers. Others ventured to the second floors to see if some rooms had been vacated so that they might change the linens for the day.

Bella only perceived three other people in the room. Two of them she recognized—they would usually frequent the tavern. They were an older gentleman and a soldier. The third she did not recognize. He sat a bit closer to them, his dirty long hair hanging in his face as he was bent over the table. He seemed terribly drunk. The shabby clothes seemed to have been worn for a long time—even his coat was wrinkly. She could not perceive anything distinguishable about him other than that it was too early in the day to be drunk.

Lucy had followed her gaze. "Some get an early start," the tavern owner said. "He's been here for the last week, comin' down every mornin' and drinkin' his heart out—fallin' asleep by noon and not leavin' until I send one of my girls to drag him away and get payment." She shook her head as she meticulously started wiping the countertop of the long bar. "And Lord knows how he gets his money. But money he manages to pay me each day, the nifty bastard! If I knew how he managed, I'd soon follow in his footsteps. Must be one of em' rich bastards from outa town."

Bella tore her gaze away from the drunkard, not too interested in him at that moment. "Lucy, pray tell, have you not seen Sgt. Thompson this morning? I would like to sit down and have a glass with him," she said with hope in her voice. She wondered indeed what interesting remarks the fat sergeant could have about last night. Bella was certain he must've been in the thick of the action.

Lucy threw the rag smack down on the table, leaning forward. Had Bella been a man, her eyes would have inevitably been drawn to the generous exposure of the woman's large bust. "I tells ya, I haven't seen him all mornin'," Lucy said. That was a very peculiar thing indeed. Sgt. Thompson would be one of the first to enter the tavern. He would visit it at least three times a day.

"Not even in the square with the morning patrol?" she asked as her brow furrowed.

"He wasn't out with the mornin' patrol!" Lucy exclaimed. Bella's face now turned into the same astonished expression as Lucy's held.

"Oh," she managed to say.

"Ya can bloody well say 'Oh'." Lucy turned to look at the garrison, far across the square, beyond the gallows that were being constructed. "Who knows what really happened in there last night."

Someone dropped their cup. It was the soldier who had spilled its ruby contents, the drink now soiled over his wrinkled uniform. The man got up in a hasty step. He seemed shaken and promptly excused himself, placing a few coins on the table before leaving the tavern.

Bella and Lucy stared after him in silence. As soon as the door had closed the bigger woman was the first to open her mouth. "I bet ya five silver coins that he saw what happened yesterday," she said. But Bella was halfway to the door to even notice Little Lucy speaking to her. She rushed in fast steps. The young girl haphazardly pushed past the drunkard.

"Watch it!" he blurted out in a slur.

"Terribly sorry, sir!" she shouted as she continued to the door. She could only hear mutters behind her as he once again rested his head over the table.

"Private?" Bella shouted after the soldier who had rushed out of the tavern. The intense sun seemingly blinded her as she stepped out. He was halfway across the square before she noticed him. Bella's restricting gown did not allow her to run after him as she would've liked. She kicked at the dirt in anger.

"Miss Swan, I believe we should return before noon passes. Else your parents might suspect you've gone _elsewhere_," came a mellow voice behind her. It was the footman who had driven her there from the Stanley's.

"Right," Bella muttered. She looked at the gallows once more. Her father would listen little to her. But perhaps she could return later that evening, to beg an audience with the local judge. Bella wanted to see if Jacob had had his trial yet. He was entitled to some sort of defense before being sentenced to such a horrible end.

* * *

The next day, she was reminded that they would have guests that evening. She had completely forgotten. Her father was up in arms about the state of the house, while her mother would run around in the kitchen, trying to help as much as she could. Lady Renée had not grown up in a fine household. There had been a time when she'd had to do all of her own housework. So, the lady of the house was a fine cook.

Bella had protested that she did not wish to sit through the entire dinner. But her father would have none of it. He had angrily reprimanded her. Earlier during the day, Sgt. Thompson had stopped by the kitchen while Bella was taking a bath. He was there to retrieve the meat pies that Dory had prepared for him. Word reached Mr. Swan who had furiously stated that his daughter could not continue to bribe the clueless sergeant.

Night soon fell and their guests arrived.

It was bizarre to sit in the company of two strangers. But what was more bizarre to her was that both strangers were married. Was this not a dinner for her to meet another intended?

The man was strikingly handsome. His blonde hair was in a low ponytail. It was not cropped short, as was becoming fashionable as of late. It was combed away from his face, allowing view of striking golden eyes and a gentle demeanor. The woman next to him was truly his equal in looks. Something about her spoke of finesse and grace Bella had yet to know. She portrayed the elegance of a true woman—a woman of the world. Her auburn hair—lighter than Bella's— was in an intricate bun, soft curls framing her face. Her eyes were hazel, captivating and deep. They drew her in as if she held some secret. But it was her smile that was the real mystery.

They were the Baron and Baroness Masen, a wealthy and noble family just moved to Hayes after having lived in the fashionable Safeira for the last decade.

"We truly regret none of our children could come to meet your charming daughter," the man—Carlisle—said with such honest lament that Bella felt uneasy.

"But I am certain you shall know them soon," the woman pitched in. Her voice was as graceful as she. Esmeralda truly made justice to her name. She held the same elegant, yet powerful presence as would be expected of someone with that name.

"How do you find Hayes?" Renée asked, trying to continue the small talk. Charles had invited the Masens for dinner at their house to establish a connection. When the wealthy merchant heard of the number of children they had, he had not even doubted a second.

"Oh, it is larger than expected, but its charm greatly pleases us. Alas, the people seem strangely wary," Carlisle responded in good humor. "They have this look in their eyes as if worried about something," he said, staring off into the distance. It looked as if a memory had emerged within his mind. But Bella knew there was something he was leaving out.

"People always worry. Hayes is quaint and comfortable for people like us," her father laughed. Bella could not help but roll her eyes and flinch at the phrase. _People like us_. As long as they were not poor, they would be alright.

"And where might your lovely children be then, if they are not yet here? I heard you are blessed with five lovely girls and boys?" asked Renée, quickly changing the subject, thus saving them from further embarrassment from her father's part. Bella sent her a thankful glance, not ignored by Esmeralda, who was most perceiving.

"We consider ourselves lucky that our family has grown much these last few years. However, we only conceived three children," Carlisle said as he cut the meat on his plate. "Our oldest, Rosalie, married first to a lovely count's son from Sorossa. Our youngest child, Alice, was fortunate to find her husband in Safeira," he continued.

"How lovely," Renée said with deep honesty. It was apparent she did not think the presence of two daughters as a misfortune for her own daughter's future prospects. Charles Swan, however, did.

"They decided to come once the house was ready. They are indeed a comfortable bunch." Carlisle proceeded to put the exquisite piece of meat in his mouth.

"And what of your second child?" Charles was hoping that inviting them over was not yet another waste of his time. He needed to find a suitor for Bella, and soon. He looked over at his lovely daughter. She was now of marrying age and yet they had not found someone suitable for her. In September she would turn twenty, and in his mind, her time was running out. Charles wanted the final thing that would cement his hold in society—a nobleman for a son-in-law.

A proud look spread across Carlisle's features at the mention of his youngest child. "Edward is currently away in England, studying at Oxford, making us proud. He is to return within a few months and settle here with us once he has finished his studies." At the mention of a son, an heir to the title, and an unmarried one at that, Charles' eyes lit up like fireworks.

"Capital!" he exclaimed, the wine starting to take effect. Esmeralda started chuckling, promptly joined in by Renée and Carlisle. Bella had grown red at her father's behavior. She sometimes wondered if it was not he who chased all the men away, with such lack of propriety.

Carlisle cleared his voice, the slight stop in conversation once again picked up by him. "I heard some disturbing news yesterday morning. Apparently, someone managed to get a prisoner out of the garrison the day before yesterday."

Charlie grew flustered. He had hoped the conversation would not go into that direction.

"Yes. We were eating a late supper when we heard it happen. It caused quite the commotion," Renée said. She was eager to speak of it too.

"We heard several shots. I don't think I could sleep a wink that night. To think a prisoner had been freed so easily," Esmeralda said and for the first time, Bella saw a hint of worry on her delicate features.

"I cannot speak for the man who freed the prisoner. But Billy Black is no common thief nor a dangerous man you should be worried about," she began. She ignored her father's kicks from under the table. "He is an honorable man who spoke up for the townspeople—foolishly perhaps—but not without cause. He was imprisoned unjustly," she said with such passion in her voice that Esmeralda put down her fork. Instead of being offended by those words, she managed a friendly smile.

"It seems you think rather passionately about this, Miss Swan."

Bella finally remembered herself. "Oh, not at all. I spoke out of term." She snuck a glance at her father; his face looking as if he'd just bitten into a lemon. He must be thinking the night a fiasco. "I beg you forgive my outlandish thoughts," she forced herself to say.

But Esmeralda only laughed. "You remind me of myself when I was younger, Isabella." The Baroness seemed to grow fonder of the spirited young woman.

The night continued in the same fashion until they were all full and satisfied. The Masens left the mansion before midnight and Bella took the chance to sneak to the stables and saddle April. The mare looked at her mistress with irritating eyes. For her, it was time to sleep, not be riding toward the garrison.

But Bella was determined. The night grew later, and fewer graced the streets. But more patrols had been circulating since the previous night's occurrence.

April took her mistress to the garrison where the gates had now been shut. Five lancers were stationed as a nightly guard. Some used their muskets to lean against, fighting hard to keep the sleep out of their eyes.

"No visitors," one of them snapped. But as he caught sight of Bella Swan, he straightened. "That means for you as well, Miss Swan."

Bella saw what the soldiers had been building during the past two days. The gallows had been finished. "I wish to speak with the sergeant," she said, still mounted on April. There was a sense of urgency in her voice.

Golden candlelight spilled out onto the street from the windows of The Laughing Goose. It was the only lit building in the area—this was when it thrived, when many would come and quench their midnight thirst.

"He is not available. And please lower your voice, miss, lest the captain hears you!" the lancer said with worry. But the young woman would not be silenced.

"Let him hear me then. I want Thompson to tell me if Jacob Black has had a trial yet and why gallows have been built on the square!"

The tall wooden doors of the garrison were soon opened. Out stepped the fat sergeant, his eyes still heavy with sleep. The unshaven chins jiggled as he struggled to get his left foot in his boot. He'd left his uniform coat back in his chamber. "What is the commotion, you will wake the captain!" he hissed. But when he caught sight of a mounted Bella, he quickly cleared his voice. "Oh, Miss Swan," he said smiling. "What are you doing here?"

Bella got down from April, releasing the reins. She knew her horse would not stray far from her mistress. "I am here because you are holding a man within those walls that has no reason to be there. I am here because I am seeing gallows in the middle of the square. I am here because I fear Jacob Black will be given the same sentence as his father and hang at dawn!" she exclaimed, fighting the rising fear. The sergeant looked as afraid as her at first. His face was an astonishing display of emotions—as open as a book. But then he seemed to finally find a grip on the situation.

"Young Mr. Black hasn't had a trial yet. Calm yourself, miss," the sergeant assured her.

"Then why are you building those gallows?" she demanded.

Thompson glanced at his soldiers. He did not like to see the pretty young woman so distressed. There were few in the square that could overhear them. The placed an arm around her and took her to the side. "Because Captain Forster is a very intelligent man. He had us construct the gallows thinking it would draw out the rescuer," Thompson said, grinning. But Bella wasn't as gullible. She did not believe for one second that Forster would pass off a reason to make a show of force.

"Forster could be sending the Royal Guard to the woods to apprehend bandits and thieves, yet he wastes his time with stupidity like this," she said sourly. "And when is Mr. Black to have his trial?"

Thompson ignored her first remark. "Captain Forster placed out notices on the boards of Hayes this afternoon, didn't you see? As soon as Mr. Black is returned to our custody and the unknown man steps forth, Jacob Black will have a fair trial."

Bella stared at Thompson in disbelief. "And you think this man will just hand himself and Billy Black over? After all the trouble he must've gone through to save him in the first place?" she asked with such disbelief in her voice that it could not be missed. But Thompson managed to miss out on her condescending tone despite himself.

"Yes!" he said with an innocent smile. Bella sometimes forgot that Thompson could have the simple mind of a naïve child.

She left him with only a frustrated sigh. There was little else she could do. Waking up Captain Forster at such an hour would be signing her own demise. She would have to keep faith and hope Jacob would either not be hanged at dawn, or rescued by the same mysterious man as his father had. Meanwhile, she thought she could speak with a dear friend she trusted with these issues—Lucas Ridge. He was a man of the law and would surely know what to do. If Jacob could not be saved by some mysterious shadow, he might have another chance with the law.

She went to April who'd managed to find the only patch of grass growing through the tight cobblestones that lined the square.

"You are leaving already, Miss Swan? Since I'm up, I was thinking about visiting Little Lucy," Thompson said with disappointment behind her.

"I am. I need some rest. And you should get some as well, sergeant," she said, mounting April in one swift motion. The horse set into a slow canter, the hooves clattering against the hard stone as she took her away from that defeating scene and home.

Although, there was one other place Bella wished to see. But she knew it would not be wise going to Raven's Grove. The young woman had little fear of what lurked amongst the trees. The northwestern part of the forest—where she usually went—had not seen bandits since a few decades back. And while some now lurked by the main road snaking through it, there were none that went off it, for fear of getting lost.

She worried more about what the patrolling soldiers would whisper in Forster's ear if they caught sight of a young woman leaving for the forest in the dead of night. It would not bode well for her family if she was suspected of being involved in the mysterious salvation of Mr. Black.

* * *

Lucas Ridge had been receiving more visits than he could count for the last few days. The Black family was a much-beloved one in Hayes and that first the oldest and then the youngest should've been imprisoned had the townspeople fuming. But they were all wise enough to realize that speaking out against Captain Forster was not an option.

He was surrounded by books of law and reports of the arrest and eyewitnesses when Bella Swan was led into his office by his maid.

Mr. Ridge looked at her from over his half-moon spectacles. His thin black hair was out of its otherwise neat and low ponytail. He had cast his frock aside and sat by his desk, scratching his head as he looked through the papers.

"You find me no good company today," he muttered as Bella stepped over a few stacks of books while getting into the room.

"You must know why I am here at this hour, Mr. Ridge," she said, taking in the splattered ink on his desk as well as the vast quantity of books.

"You and half of Hayes have been here with the same request," Ridge said. He waved his hand at her, motioning for her to leave. "It will do me no good with distractions."

"Then you have found something?" She fiddled with her hands as her lips pressed together. Bella liked Mr. Ridge, a decent man and someone who was a good friend to her. He was like the uncle she'd never had. But he could never be her father's brother, he was far too sensible to be related to Charles Swan. But indeed, she had grown up running over to his house, allowed to read his many volumes and vast collections of foreign literature.

"Perhaps," he said. Lucas removed the spectacles and pressed the bridge of his nose. The thin man fought against the growing headache. He had not slept a wink the whole night. "There are many reasons Captain Forster cannot hold Mr. Black or his son imprisoned. That he held a trial in silence is enough to have him reprimanded. But considering the day and age we live in, we've better luck with that crazy fellow rescuing Jacob," he finished.

"But surely something can be done," Bella waded through the paper, caring little if she stepped on it. "Something has to be done. That man, whoever he is, has made Billy Black a fugitive from the law. If he brings Billy back and we assure him a just trial, he might have his old life back."

"If Billy Black has a just trial, I am certain that would be the case."

"Then we must make this information known to the rescuer," Bella said with giddy hopefulness.

The look on Mr. Ridge's face dismayed her, however. "Maybe if we make sure the right judge precedes over the trial?" she asked in another hopeful tone.

"That's what I've been thinking as well. And tell me, Miss Swan, how many good judges do you know of in the area?"

She looked down at the floor. "Few, if none."

"Precisely. I had a letter this morning recommending I contact someone called Mr. Johnson in Safeira. But would this man answer a letter from some small-town lawyer? I think not!"

"Who sent you this information?" Bella asked, growing suspicious suddenly.

"A John Doe," he said. As soon as Lucas uttered the name, he understood Bella's suspicion. He'd been tired when he'd read the letter. "Someone wishing to remain anonymous, perhaps," he stated.

"But if someone from Safeira were to know this Mr. Johnson and write to him, would he not come then?" Bella asked.

"Safeira is not like Hayes. Just because they lived in the same city does not mean they ever frequented the same circles. I doubt very much that any of the frequent travelers that go to The Laughing Goose will have much luck in convincing this judge."

Bella's grin widened. "I'm not speaking of just anyone," she said.

Mr. Ridge stared at her over his spectacles. He had known the girl since before she could walk, and the lawyer always got curious when such a look appeared on her face. It would usually spell trouble for those around her.

"Mr. Ridge, leave contacting the judge from Safeira to me. I am certain there are other things you'd have to go over if this trial should ever proceed."

Lucas nodded in unison with what she'd said. "Indeed. I'd need to gather more witnesses and speak with the judge, Mr. Fields, who saw over Mr. Black's trial." The man swallowed, not too keen on taking on such a task. "I'd have to speak to Captain Forster himself," he said with a weak voice.

"Perhaps you should wait with that," Bella murmured. She remembered the feeling Forster would invoke in her whenever she saw him. A chill would run down her spine and she would wish she were somewhere else. The dust in the room burned her lungs and Bella could not wait to leave the mess of Mr. Ridge's office.

"I am off, Mr. Ridge. I will stop by this evening and see what you've found." She went for the door but as she neared, something pulled at her to stop. A graceful twirl of her feet turned her around. "I am certain we shall remedy this," she said with confidence in her voice. But if there was something she was lacking, it was the confidence she portrayed.

Bella kept staring at the muddy ground as April carried her to the Masen townhouse. She knew it was not pertinent of her to show up there without an invitation or without having sent word. But the way Esmeralda Masen had treated her gave the young girl hope. Perhaps Carlisle Masen would be inclined to help her for a just cause. Bella had little reason to trust in the rich aristocrats and nobility. If there was one thing she knew, it was that they all only cared for themselves. There was a certain arrogance and selfishness around them that made her wish the world could change.

While still deep in thought, she suddenly looked up, alarmed when April stopped. Her horse had taken her mindless mistress to her destination. Sometimes Bella thought April could read her very thoughts.

The neat street with townhouses was in the newer section of Hayes. The buildings that had stood here before had been old and downtrodden. Some had dated as far back as the middle ages. It was the mayor who had decided it best to take it all down and build newer and better houses. Although elegant, Bella felt a piece of Hayes had been extinguished when the old and colorful buildings had been removed. It was a piece of the town that told of its history. And now it was gone, replaced with finesse and finery.

It was on this street that the Masens would live for the foreseeable future. Apparently—from what she had heard—Lord Masen was currently on the lookout for an estate. It seemed a townhouse was not enough for them.

Bella felt out of place as April took her down the elegant pavement next to the tall brick buildings. They were all built wall-to-wall. All stood three stories tall, each level had resplendent and elegant tall windows, letting in as much light as possible. The first level of the buildings was built in white stone. The same polished white stone would frame the windows. The rest of the house was in a brick of elegant deep brown that reminded her of the color of aged mahogany.

Trees had been planted on the street in front of the houses with even spaces. The young trees started sprouting white flowers in their crowns as early summer rolled on. The street held a lovely fragrance, mixed together with the appetizing smell of cooking food and baking. Somewhere in these houses, a family was to dine well.

She stopped at number six on the street. It was a wider building. The small stairs leading up to the black doors looked so neat and polished that she dared not climb them for fear of dirtying them. But Bella felt stupid, standing there and staring at the tall building looming over her. April nudged her forward—as if the horse were telling her to grow some courage.

Bella took a deep breath—Mr. Black and his son were counting on her. She left her horse tied to the black iron fence and walked past the gates. She stared at the silver door knocker. It was the head of a lion holding a large brass ring in its mouth with swirling patterns.

Bella took the ring in her hand, its sheer weight surprising her. She knocked three times, the sound ringing loudly in her ears. She could hear the echo of the knocks on the other side of the door and her stomach jumped with butterflies.

Steps sounded and someone opened the door.

Joseph pushed the heavy door open. He loathed the thing and could not understand why Lord Masen had not yet replaced it as soon as they had moved in. He knew none had sent word of wanting to see neither the Baron nor his wife. The butler suddenly wondered if it was one of the children who had arrived a week or so too early. But as the door swung open, he only found himself face to face with two large chocolate brown eyes.

"Good day to you, sir," she said, curtsying. "I seek the Baron, or the Baroness, if any of them happen to be home," she said with little ceremony.

Joseph stared at her further. He took in her appearance. Her chestnut hair had hints of reddish streaks in it whenever the sun danced across it. Her delicate eyebrows balanced on a heart-shaped face with otherwise elegant features. But there was something in her air that told him that this young woman did not hold that certain finesse of which he was so used in seeing those ladies that would visit the Baron's household. But he was certain that the woman was a lady. For she certainly dressed the part, albeit a bit sloppy. Her gown was dirty at the hem and, her hair, held back by pins, had already started coming loose. But there was a vibrancy in her eyes he had not seen in many—save a select few. Before even getting to know the young woman, he decidedly liked what he saw. She was a breath of fresh air from the otherwise uptight noblemen.

She seemed to wonder why he had not yet answered her. Joseph forgot himself and wondered with what look he had been contemplating her.

Bella grew more nervous as the uptight man gave her such a look of condescension that she wanted to sink through the earth. "I am Isabella Swan if Lord Masen should ask," she said in a fainter voice.

The man's otherwise harsh face lit up suddenly. The switch was as contrasting as day and night. The smile alone took at least ten years off his face and, all of a sudden, the man she'd thought old and uptight grew more charming in her eyes. She looked past the specks of gray and white in his otherwise black head of hair. The dark eyes glowed as he stepped aside.

"His lordship is indeed home," he answered. "If you will follow me, I shall take you to him." Joseph remembered that name. Esmeralda Masen had spoken it with such warmth in her voice that he could not easily forget it.

Bella stepped into the foyer and her breath was taken away. Even if she lived in a grand house herself, theirs was a few centuries old and, so, the construction so different. The foyer of the Masens was more open, more spacious. It was higher in roof as well. To her delight, it was almost entirely in whites and golds. The chandelier was hoisted high over them and the crystals gleamed as the beams of the sun hit them. She walked on the elegant red and maroon rug that continued up the marble stairs. The butler took her up the next level and through a myriad of corridors until finally arriving at a small parlor.

"Please wait here, madam and his lordship shall be with you shortly," the man spoke with gentility as he took a chair out for her, allowing her to sit by a small table next to the window.

The parlor was quaint—much like their own parlor back home. The Masens had decorated it with the same easy style as her mother. It seemed they were still settling in for there was a grand lack of furniture.

She looked out the window that faced the street. A laugh escaped her as she saw April, biting at the reins holding her in place. The mare had caught sight of a juicy tuft of grass on the other side of the street. Bella was entertained by her horse until the door opened once more and Carlisle Masen entered, shown there by the butler.

Bella immediately got up and curtsied, but the middle-aged Baron merely smiled and bade her sit down again. "Bring us some tea, will you Joseph?" he asked as he sat down facing her.

"That won't be necessary, Lord Masen, I shan't be long," she said. "I only came to speak with you of a most important matter."

Joseph stood by the door, unsure if he should listen to the Baron or to the guest. When Carlisle nodded—his smile replaced by a slight frown—he closed the door behind him, leaving them be.

"It sounds serious," Carlisle said.

"It is most serious. I am sorry for my lack of propriety by coming here without calling, but there was no one else I could go to, my lord," Bella said, folding her hands in her knees to keep them from picking at her hair. Carlisle's frown grew deeper and the wrinkles seemed more prominent, making him looked older.

"I am sure you have a good reason for being here, there is nothing to apologize for," he assured her. Bella was relieved he was already so understanding. The air in the room changed. There had been no tension there before, but it descended upon them like a great storm. Carlisle felt it too and as he watched her gripping at her dress, he wondered what might be so important.

"You might have heard of a certain Mr. Black being detained a few days ago and then miraculously escaping the confinements of his cell before the morning of his execution," she started.

"We mentioned it briefly during dinner at your parent's house," Carlisle agreed.

"I know the family. I have grown up with them my lord and before I continue, I must state that Billy Black is a man of fine character. There is no one nobler that I can think of in all of Hayes. The same can be said for his son. Alas, even if he is a great man, his temper gets the better of him. The day he was arrested, I was there, I was witness to the whole ordeal," she sensed Carlisle was about to interrupt her.

"I urge you to not think ill of me for not having said anything before. I am taking a great leap of faith in trusting you with this information, my lord, as my parents do not know of this. The reason I am telling you this is because Mr. Black was detained on a false charge—that of treason." Bella didn't know the whole reason for rushing there. But if the same man who had saved Billy Black had given them another way to help him back into society and further help him from Forster, she would do all in her power to help him.

"Treason?" It seemed Carlisle grew decidedly interested now as he leaned forward.

"Mr. Black only spoke up against the injustices of Captain Forster, the current commandant of the guards and soldiers of Hayes. Mr. Black was too proud to keep quiet and one thing led to another. Before we knew it, the captain hurled charges of treason against him. Charges, my lord, that few if any would want to get involved in. We from Hayes know when to shut our mouths, we know what is best for us. But I believe Mr. Black had had enough of it all and he spoke up."

Carlisle Masen drifted closer and closer to her. There was a look of indignation plastered on his features. Bella felt the hope she'd had for this man dwindle. He was like the rest of the noblemen; too afraid to do anything that would taint his good name.

"And what do you want from me?" he asked with caution in his voice.

"Mr. Black's son was arrested the morning after his father's miraculous escape under the same charges."

Carlisle's eyes lit up, it seemed she held his attention now.

"We have not been able to see him; neither have his friends nor family. I do not know if he has seen a trial or even spoken to a lawyer. The reason I am here is because I visited a friend of mine this morning—a lawyer himself who has decided to look into the matter. We believe that if Billy Black were to return and stand trial again—a fair trial with a fair judge—then he and his son would be acquitted of all charges. They would get their lives back and Mr. Black would not have to live as a fugitive from the law."

Bella held her breath as she looked at Carlisle with anticipation in her eyes. "I've heard that a Mr. Johnson in Safeira is supposed to be a revered man of the law and a just judge. I thought that perhaps you knew him and would be willing to contact him for us."

Carlisle got up from his chair and went to look out the window. "This Captain Forster, has he done this before?" Carlisle asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if he has imprisoned people without a cause. It sounds to me like this Mr. Black might have insulted the man and he took it out on him," Carlisle said in a pensive manner.

"Yes."

Carlisle turned around, knowing she was not telling him everything. "And what has he done to these people?"

"Most get away with a flogging. Others have been sent to labor camps," she whispered, looking down at the floor. Carlisle gritted his teeth.

"This is not acceptable," he growled. "And nothing has been done about this?" The lack of furniture made his deep voice bounce across the room, reverberating like an echo in a valley. "I will, of course, write to him," he started. "I will have to contact many of my friends in Safeira—"

Bella got up in a hasty manner. "I urge you, my lord, to not do anything foolish. The only thing you need to do is to write this Mr. Johnson. If you try anything against Captain Forster, I am certain you will not suffer the consequences because you are an aristocrat. But the rest of us might not be so lucky," she said. Carlisle detected a hint of fear and sorrow in her voice. Might it be that Isabella Swan had witnessed things he rather not delve further into? She curtsied and headed for the door. She did not stay behind to hear more of what he had to say.

"I will show myself out. I am most grateful for your time, Lord Masen. Let me know if Mr. Johnson responds to your letter," she said as she headed for the door. Carlisle looked pensive as she left him there. But he soon snapped out of it and accompanied her to the foyer. Esmeralda descended the stairs when she saw Bella leave, walking to April and mounting her. Carlisle stood by the opened door.

"Dear, why did you not let me know that we had company?" Esmeralda asked as she came to stand by his side, looking as Bella rode away in a slow trot.

"It was a brief encounter, Esme," he said with a pause. "I need to write a letter… a very detailed letter," he said with a darker voice. Carlisle was well connected, and he would get to the bottom of this.

* * *

**A/N: Chapter 2 is up, finally! I've seen some speculations in the reviews about where this story is going, and rather than answering, I think I'll just let the story play out since I don't want to give anything away ;) You'll see pretty soon how this will end hehe**

**Thank you to those who reviewed and read this story! I always appreciate it, and I'm so happy to see so many returning from the Secrets trilogy to read Audeamus as well. Again, if you haven't read the trilogy, you don't have to do that to understand this fic :)**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	3. Chapter 3

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 3_

Raven's Grove was fresh with the brief fall of rain that had descended on the valley earlier that day. The drops hung heavy on leaves and grass. Mud flew around April's hooves as she spurted through the forest on the main road.

Bella Swan soared.

She could finally breathe once more. She was free.

There was nothing like the woods to bring her out of her gloomy existence and into another world. As the main road grew wider, she took off to the left as she always had. The forest was thick, and, in the distance, there was a soft green glow; particles danced in the thin beams of the sun that managed to penetrate the thick forest roof. The mysterious world that attracted her now welcomed her. She was heading for her own paradise—The Embrace.

The days had grown warmer as summer progressed with a staggering rate. She passed the still lake and stopped April. In the distance, she saw the Durun Mountains; a vast mountain range that was the backdrop to Adelton Hall, clustering behind the medieval white castle as if almost swallowing it. Its base was engulfed by the tall pine trees that climbed up the mountains from Raven's Grove. A stream that grew in the mountains descended and flowed out in this lake. It looked refreshing and she decided to head toward it.

Bella decided that The Embrace could wait for her. The clear forest lake sparkled, and no gemstone nor gold could compare to the glittering water that flowed freely before her. Indeed, nothing could compare to the untamed force of nature. She discarded the longer outer layer of her gown and cast it aside, letting the air filtrate through the thin material of her white muslin underdress. The hem was stained with dirt and Bella sighed. She was in for another reprimand. She figured that there was little else her mother or father could be angry with, so she removed her boots and lifted the hem of her skirt.

Bella had bathed many times in that very lake. This would be the first time that she would feel the cool water brush against her naked feet this year. Her skin had waited for this moment the whole winter.

The soft grass by the riverbank tickled her feet as she walked to the water. The first foot in sent a shiver through her as the shock of the cold water alerted her system, sending a spurt of adrenaline. When the second foot stepped in, she delighted in the freshness the clean water brought. The rays of the sun illuminated her face and cast their warmth on her. Bella turned her face to meet them and closed her eyes, standing there in a moment of pure ecstasy. She listened to the forest, to its melody, the chant that had grown so familiar to her. The sweet sound of birdsong and swaying grass washed over like a comforting blanket. The fragrance of earth and blossoms hung effortlessly in the air.

But then something brought her out of her peace. Something was not right. The young woman was so alerted to every little aspect of the woods that she learned to notice when it grew too quiet. The birdsong had died down, April was alarmed as well—her ears flickering about, trying to find the source of the disturbance.

Someone had entered her little paradise.

Her eyes widened, and she turned around with the quickness of a viper. She wondered if it was a wild animal having stumbled upon her and her horse. Her heart rate elevated as she feared it to be a wolf or perhaps a boar. She stood with her dress gathered about her thigs, knee-deep in water, exposed, and utterly defenseless. When Bella turned to the riverbank she saw a rider in a deep hood wearing shabby clothes.

April had stepped away from him; her ears alert to whoever he was. Bella stood frozen in place as he dismounted his frail-looking horse. The poor thing was at the brink of starvation. Its fur was matted and dirty. It looked to be a mixture of gray and brown, but she wondered if it was not white under all that dirt. Its head hung low toward the ground, the horse too tired to hold it up. She could spot the ribs protruding under the heavy saddle.

The rider walked to the riverbank, leading his horse and letting it quench its thirst. He seemed to be noticing her but said nothing. The woman standing in the muslin dress with bare arms and revealing her legs would not leave him alone with her gaze. Her mouth was set firm as if she was waiting for him to charge at her. After such a drawn-out tension he spoke.

"My horse was thirsty," he said matter-of-factly as he motioned to the wretched animal who would not stop drinking. Bella still stared at him. She grew wary when he would not show his face. The voice from within the hood sounded tired, very tired. His clothes were torn in some places, the material rough and worn. The trousers had patches of dirt on the knees and the blue shirt was ridden with stains as well. Two fingers of the left glove that he wore were missing, the bare fingers peeking out of the holes. The cape he'd thrown over his shoulders had several holes in it, the material a dark maroon that had faded from too many washes.

"Indeed," she finally said sheepishly, feeling the situation grow awkward and even tenser. Bella could not stop her mouth from forming the following words. "It seems it might be more than water he craves, however," she said, pointing at the thin wretch.

The hood moved, she thought he might have tilted his head at such words. Bella grew more frustrated that she could not see his face.

"Perhaps," and then he motioned to April. "Then perhaps your horse could do with a little less in her belly," he answered flatly. Bella grew flustered at such words. How dare this man insult her little April!

"Are you calling my mare fat, sir?" she asked, biting her tongue, not wanting an insult to escape her. When he chuckled, Bella's ire rose.

"Your mare does not seem to take offense," he said in a jolly voice, pointing at her horse. April did not help Bella's case as she was happily munching away at the juicy grass.

"Indeed not, but I do!" she said, grabbing at her gown and wading toward the man who patiently sat down on a rock, watching as she neared him.

"Maybe you should be more careful with your step, lest you fall," he said with such amusement in his voice that Bella had to stop and furrow her brow. But she continued onward, not letting his tasteless comments bother her.

"Maybe you should mind your own business," she huffed as she stepped on the river bank. He watched her with what she could only describe to be a laidback glee and curiosity reflecting in his body language.

"Well, you began by insulting my horse," he said, the muffled tone never losing that amusement it had held. She detected a faint accent but could not place it. He spoke well enough, not harsh like the farmers or workers that she would spot at Lucy's.

She started putting on her boots, fighting against the blush that crept over her cheeks and her reddening ears.

"I merely made a statement, I never meant to insult your horse as you meant to insult mine!" she said as she grabbed her overcoat.

"Are you going already?" he asked. The man lounged against a nearby tree trunk, placing his hands behind his head, contemplating her from within his hood.

"I most certainly am, this riverbank has suddenly grown too crowded for me," she snapped. Bella mounted April and set off in a canter. It was only a few minutes after having ridden away that she heard an amused laughter dance through the trees. It only made her square her jaw and urge April to ride faster.

* * *

"Dory, do you think April is fat?" Bella asked mindlessly as she played with the wooden spoon, twirling it around in her hands. Night had fallen and after supper, she had journeyed down to the kitchens for some apple juice before bed as per usual. Her mouth was in a thin line as she remembered how that man had insulted her sweet little girl.

Dory, tired from a hard day's work, helped the kitchen maids clear up the final accumulated food and kitchen appliances before heading to bed.

"What?" she asked as Bella put away the spoon. The other maids paid her little heed.

"I asked if you think April, my horse, is fat," she repeated, now staring the older woman straight on.

Bella looked so wretched over the question that a slight chuckle escaped the short woman. "Where on earth does this question stem from?" she asked in a smiling voice as she cleaned up the last of the flour of the countertop.

"Nowhere," Bella muttered. But she could not ignore that amused laugh as she had ridden away earlier that day. How it had vexed her!

"I would be lying if I told you that April did not have a few pounds to lose. She does enjoy munching away at whatever she can get. Perhaps you are spoiling her," Dory said with such a force of truthfulness that it evoked a groan in Bella. If there was something she both detested and admired in Dory it was her blatant honesty.

"Really?" Bella asked in a dismayed manner.

"She looks to be carryin' a foal!" one of the kitchen maids joined in. Bella sent her a glare and then rested her head in her hands.

The hooded man had been right. But Bella would never admit that to herself. In the morning, she would speak with Robert, the stablemaster. They would have to ration April's intake of food. She was certain her mare would not be happy about that.

* * *

The following days lacked much to speak of. Bella tried time and again to see Jacob. She had sent a letter to Lord Masen, wondering if he'd had word yet from this Mr. Johnson—if he would come. Three days later, Bella received a note asking if she would not come to their townhouse in the newer part of Hayes. Bella did so gladly, hoping to receive some good news.

April's ears were turned back as she was being saddled. Her bloated belly had diminished in size and the white mare did not look as big as she once had in only the course of a week. Bella smirked; if she ever saw that hooded man she would never admit to putting her mare on a regimen because of what he had said to her.

April had been in a foul mood ever since her food intake had been limited. But she could not remain angry with her mistress. It was usually the stablemaster that felt the full weight of the horse's ire.

They went that early morning to the Masens in a slow canter. Bella could not ignore how her stomach jumped with anticipation. She had seen Mr. Ridge several times during the week, as had other concerned townspeople. He had built a case in favor of Jacob and his father—_if_ a trial could be held. It all depended on what Carlisle Masen had to say. If they did not get the judge they wished for, little could be done for the father and the son.

Bella had often wondered just who had saved Mr. Black and with what reason. She understood the difficulty of the situation. By saving Mr. Black he had both spared yet condemned him. Billy Black had been spared an execution, retaining his life—but he was now a fugitive from the law. Captain Forster must not have sent Jacob Black to be executed because he knew he had the eyes of the townspeople on him. It made the young woman feel better, to know that the captain still worried about popular opinion, to some degree.

The townhouse stood as elegant as she had left it. Bella tied April to the same black iron fence and went to knock on the black door. The same dark-haired butler opened it and he offered her a charming smile as he motioned for her to step in.

"His lordship is expecting you," the man said as she followed him up the stairs. Bella wondered why Carlisle had not just told her what he needed to say in a letter.

She was shown to the same small parlor. It looked more complete now, more furniture had been brought in as well as a small piano that stood elegantly in one corner. Carlisle sat in one chair and spoke with a short man who stood by the windows, his back turned to the door.

"My lord, sir," Joseph said, alerting them to their presence. "I have brought Miss Swan." He stepped aside and ushered the woman in. Bella caught sight of Esmeralda as well. She did not know there would be such a crowd.

Carlisle got up with a charming smile. "Miss Swan, please, join us!" he said. She took his good mood as a positive sign. The man by the windows turned around. He had a thick head of red, curly hair. His midsection was a bit round, showing this man knew how to enjoy a good meal, no doubt. His eyes were small and she could not see their color from where she stood. His hair was cropped, as was the growing fashion—still, few ventured far as to actually doing it. Only the younger generations had grown the courage to take such a step.

Bella walked up and curtsied. Carlisle started with the introductions right away. "Miss Swan, allow me the pleasure of presenting you Henry Johnson of Safeira. Mr. Johnson, this is the young woman I've been speaking of," Carlisle started. Bella stared at the man and felt her heart rate soar. Mr. Johnson was here? So fast? She snuck a glance at Carlisle and could not believe how fast he'd managed to get the judge to Hayes.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said with a curtsy.

He bowed, she saw him eye her slightly. He had, like so many others, reacted at her name, but not said more about it. Bella happened to share a name with an important historical figure in Angloa, and she continuously cursed her own mother for having given her the name _Isabella_. It was also the reason she preferred to be called by 'Bella'.

"The pleasure is mine, miss," he responded. His eyes were as black as the wings of a raven.

"Dear Isabella!" Esmeralda said and went over to direct her to sit next to her. "Carlisle has been telling me all about what you want to do. It is a very noble thing," the older woman commended.

Bella blushed at the compliment. "It is only what most of Hayes wants to do, my lady. Few have the ability to do more than speak out against the unjust treatment of the Black family," she said, not wanting to take the full weight of the compliment.

"But you actively sought out my husband and bade him contact Mr. Johnson."

"How did you know to contact me?" Mr. Johnson asked in a curious manner. He'd sat down with the rest of them and joined in on the conversation.

Bella bit her tongue. She could not tell the judge the truth—at least not the whole truth. If the people present ever found out that someone using a pseudonym had directed them to contact Mr. Johnson, suspicion would arise. If said person was who she suspected—the same man who had saved Mr. Black—then she was certain both the Masens and Mr. Johnson would soon distance themselves from the case and from Mr. Black.

"Mr. Ridge has heard a lot about you from acquaintances that travel here from Safeira on a regular basis," she lied, hoping they would not see through it.

But Mr. Johnson seemed flattered at such a compliment and never once questioned her honesty. "Then I shall be most eager to make his acquaintance in the future," Mr. Johnson smiled.

Bella made a mental note to speak with Lucas Ridge and inform him of her little white lie before introducing him to Mr. Johnson.

But now that the judge was here, Bella was at ease. She was certain Jacob would be released as soon as possible and his father acquitted of any charges.

"Before anything else, I should speak with this Captain Forster. I need to be informed of the crimes of both accused men," he started. Bella was about to interrupt him, saying that Billy and Jacob had committed no crimes.

"I understand you are against this, but the law is the law. If we want to do this right, we have to go through the right procedures. From what I understand, Mr. Black and his son have little to fear."

But what Bella feared was what lies Captain Forster would tell Mr. Johnson about the men he had condemned.

She felt as if having spent hours there until she finally left. Esmeralda Masen accompanied her to the door where the butler, Joseph, stood holding it open for her. April looked in a sour mood at her mistress, angered that she had taken so long.

"I hope you will stop by again. Our children are to arrive from Safeira any day now," she said with expectancy.

"Indeed?"

"All except the middle son. Edward is still in England, I believe. But he should arrive later this summer," Esmeralda assured her, with a look of pride.

"You must miss him." It did not escape Bella that Esmeralda's eyes would light up as soon as she spoke of her son.

"I have not seen him in years," the Baroness confessed. "When Carlisle and I accompanied him to the ship that was to take him to the port in Plymouth, he was but a boy in our eyes, only just having turned eighteen. That was more than six years ago. The time seems to have stood still while he's been gone."

"I am eager to meet this son who has you up in such high spirits. And I am also eager to know the man of whom you all speak so highly of," Bella said with a charming smile.

"As am I for you to meet him," Esmeralda said. "Do stop by later this week if you've nothing else planned. Your charming mother is welcomed as well, of course."

Bella noticed that Esmeralda did not mention her father. But she understood why. Charles Swan could get too carried away at times, as he had at dinner. He had little tact and finesse when it came to these things. While Bella expressed a genuine interest to befriend Esmeralda Masen and her family further, Charles Swan had other things in mind when he spoke of said family.

"I shall indeed, my lady. I bid you a good day," Bella ensured her, saying her goodbyes to both the lady of the house and the butler.

* * *

The town saw the sun rise and settle several times without any news as to Mr. Black and his rescuer. Jacob Black found himself in a miserable state; his contempt for Captain Forster growing to new heights.

Completing the first fortnight of his incarceration, he was awakened one morning by the rattling sound of keys. He figured it to be Sgt. Thompson with the same sorry excuse for a meal. He wondered how the sergeant could keep such a massive belly with such horrible food. The young man wrinkled his nose in anticipation of the impending meal.

But what walked in through those gates was not what he had been expecting at all. A man, middle-aged and with thin black hair, stepped into his cell, his countenance somewhat familiar to Jacob. He dressed in dark, formal clothing. Jacob wondered if he was yet another poor soul to fall victim to Captain Forster's schemes. But when he spotted the stack of papers in his left arm, he figured this was not a prisoner.

"Mr. Black," the man said in a drawl, looking at him over his spectacles.

Jacob hastily got up from the flimsy cot and stood at full height, towering over the shorter and thinner man.

"Aye," he responded, his black eyes narrowing in suspicion. Perhaps this was another one of Captain Forster's tricks.

"My name is Lucas Ridge. I am sure we've met in town on some formal occasion sometime. I've come here on the request of a friend of yours," he smiled.

"A friend?" Jacob wondered.

"Are you not acquainted with Miss Isabella Swan?" he asked as he furrowed his brow in slight confusion.

Jacob's mouth fell open in disbelief at hearing Bella's name. "I…am," was all he could say. Jacob's stomach dropped, he did not wish for her to be involved in this. It was dangerous enough as it was. "You are come here to help me?" he asked in a hopeful tone. Anything to get him out of that cold and blasted cell would be an improvement to his current predicament.

"By some feat or miracle, she has managed to get the attention of a much-celebrated judge, come here all the way from Safeira. Your case has stirred quite the attention it seems, Mr. Black," Mr. Ridge said, sitting down on the flimsy stool by the iron door.

Jacob's brows only knitted together further. Since when did Bella Swan have the connections to bring a judge all the way from Safeira?

"As I understand it, a trial has not yet been set. Captain Forster feels certain conditions should be met before doing so," the lawyer continued. "Mr. Johnson has sent me to go over some proceedings and formalities. He wants this to be a fair and just trial," he finished.

Jacob felt his hope dwindle. "What conditions?" he asked, sinking down on the cot in defeat.

"I understand how you must feel, Mr. Black. Your situation is indeed a tricky one. I do not agree with Captain Forster's treatment of you—most of Hayes agrees Forster has manhandled both you and your father. Holding you here is, what I believe, to be a message to both your father and the man who rescued him. But both the captain and the judge have agreed that a trial cannot be held until your father returns."

"If my father returns, Captain Forster will execute him," Jacob spat. He hoped Billy Black would keep his wit and stay away from Hayes. Whoever the stranger was that had saved him, he hoped he would keep his father away from danger.

Mr. Ridge's lips turned into a thin line. "Another thing I've greatly come to disagree with Captain Forster on," Mr. Ridge said. "Let it be known, Mr. Black, that as soon as this trial takes place, I would not be surprised if Captain Forster did not fall under some sort of investigation. The way he has personally manhandled the law and bent it to his own will in this town is sickening.

"Who would dare such a feat?" Jacob stared at the silent man. "Surely not you, Mr. Ridge?" The slight pause served enough to answer his question.

"Someone has to do it," Lucas began, his steely eyes set in determination. "Someone should have done it long ago." The half-moon spectacles slid down his nose before being ceremoniously pushed back up again.

Jacob laced his fingers together and let his head slump down in a gesture of defeat. "And why now? This has been going on for far too long for you to just now decide to do something about it."

"Because," Mr. Ridge inched forward. "I want to show that the law can put away scoundrels like Captain Forster," he whispered, afraid to be heard by the nearby soldiers. "This man who rescued your father took the law into his own hands. We do not need daredevils and rebels at a time like this. Those ideals are dangerous."

"Perhaps, but you cannot argue with the results," Jacob said while pressing his lips together. He lifted his face to meet that of Mr. Ridge's. The long strands of black hair fell into his visage.

"What results? Your father is a fugitive and you are incarcerated," Lucas muttered as he wrinkled his nose.

"But he is alive! Whatever law you speak of, whatever justice it might contain, it has not shown itself to me or to Hayes. In fact, I think Angloa itself has not seen Lady Justice do much for the last few years."

"Such speech is dangerous, Mr. Black," Lucas sighed. "Very dangerous in times like these."

"The man who saved my father took the matter into his own hands, aye. He helped my father because he could. Listen to me, Mr. Ridge. There is more hanging on this trial than just my freedom. If you fail, you will have shown that the king's law contains no justice—that it can be led around by those fit to manipulate it for their own good."

"That is why both I and Mr. Johnson aim to get you out of here and to reprimand Captain Forster," Mr. Ridge said. He started looking through the stack of paper he had and took out a plume and some ink.

"Now, shall we begin? I need your statement and a total retelling of the last few days leading up to your incarceration," he started with renewed energy, ready to take notes.

Jacob let out an audible sigh as he decided there was little he could do. He was thankful that Miss Swan wanted him free, but he held little hopes.

"Well, it all began when Lord Newton decided taxes should be raised… again."

* * *

The iron door to his cell squeaked open and Jacob sat up promptly. He had been given better treatment during the last few days ever since Mr. Ridge had turned into his attorney. Sgt. Thompson was the one who saw to it that Jacob now had three full meals instead of the usual one and that he be given warmer blankets for the chilly nights.

He ignored his aching limbs as the silhouette of a woman stepped into the filthy cell. Jacob frowned as he wondered who would be allowed access to him. At first, he thought it to be his aunt, but the woman before him was taller and not as stocky. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the clear smiling brown eyes and heart-shaped face of Bella Swan smile down at him.

"Miss Swan—Bella?" he uttered in disbelief, moving to stand.

She turned to the guard and pressed a small meat-pie into his hands. "Thank you, Corporal," she smiled. "I understood you would see reason in the end," she blinked. The corporal, a short, robust man, ignored her, his mouth watering at the sight of the pie. He left them alone, no doubt finding a solitary corner where he could munch on the delicacy.

"Had it been the sergeant I fear the number of pies I brought would only have taken me as far as the courtyard," she laughed, moving to sit by the cot.

"What are you doing here? How on earth did you manage to get in?" Jacob uttered, looking around, afraid that Forster would see her.

"Why, Mr. Black, I am happy to see you too," she answered tartly with pronounced politeness, thus mimicking him. "I did not bribe my way in here, if that is what you think. Mr. Ridge and Mr. Johnson have managed to soften our dear Captain Forster. He is allowing you visitors now," she said, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. Jacob took in her appearance for the first time. Then a smirk touched her features. "But the pies did indeed help," she chuckled.

He wondered if it was not she who had spent the night in a cell. Her hair was loose, the curls flying off wild in all directions. Here and there he saw some small leaves—probably missed by her as she had hastily brushed her fingers through her hair to look more presentable. Her maroon riding habit had grass stains on it and was wrinkled in some places.

Jacob was, nevertheless, happy to see a familiar and friendly face for once. "I am grateful for all your help, Bella," he said as he relaxed on the cot.

Her face lit up at his words and the motion was as charming as anything to him. Jacob suspected the young woman did not know herself how beautiful she could be if she really wanted to.

"The moment Mr. Ridge told me you could have visitors, I took the opportunity to see how you were doing. I suspect more of your family will be coming soon to see you as well."

"I see," Jacob answered. But before he could go any further, Bella cut him off shyly.

"We have known each other for a long time, Jacob. You shouldn't think it strange that I went to such lengths to get you these accommodations. And I want you to know that half of the town was up in arms over how you and your father were treated. Besides, I care very much for your father and felt it my responsibility to do what I could for his son. I hope you will not find my intrusion blatant and unwelcoming."

"Unwelcoming? You are in jest, surely! I thought to be done for until Mr. Ridge came like sent from heaven!"

"Then you have faith that you will be released?" she asked as she reached inside her pouch, offering him some meat pies as well. Jacob reached for them and with little hesitation, he started munching away at one of them. He was happy to be eating food with flavor once more.

"I have faith that you might speak with Mr. Ridge and Mr. Johnson to convince them of solving this in another way."

"In another way?" She stared at him dumbfounded as he downed the pie. Bella ignored his wretched state—the wrinkled shirt, the long hair out of its confinements, the rough cot upon which he sat. Jacob had seen better days and she hoped he would soon be out.

"I am not as naïve as some, Bella. I know for a fact that whatever trial me and my father end up in, Captain Forster will do his utmost to see that we do not escape his clutches—one way or another."

"But Jacob, surely you do not think Captain Forster capable of—"

"Oh, I do indeed. You are protected from seeing such things. But Captain Forster is capable of more horrendous things than you or your fine friends could ever imagine. Bringing over a judge here will not bring about much change. The only man who has gone up against him and gotten away is the same man who rescued my father. He was sensible enough to hide his identity. Look at what Forster did to my father the moment he escaped: he attacked his family."

"Such talk is dangerous," Bella hissed, looking around.

"Your Mr. Ridge said the same," he answered in an unnerved tone. "Listen, I am beyond grateful for your help and your presence here. I have not seen a friendly face for a week, at least. But I do not wish you to be more involved. Get away from all this, I beg you," he pleaded with a cold demeanor.

"I… no one knows it was I who sought out Lord Carlisle to send word to Mr. Johnson."

"Good, let it remain that way." Jacob stared at the hay-covered floor of his cell, seemingly coming to terms with his current situation. "I hope my father is sensible enough to stay away," he said after a long pause. Bella stared at him and despaired that Jacob would hold so little hope.

"I will return tomorrow with some more pies, Jacob," she said after finding no words to comfort him with.

His smile caused a flush to creep up her throat. But it never fully bloomed across her cheeks. "Thank you, Bella," he said with a stiff smile. Despite his situation, he had no wish for their long friendship to turn sour.

"Very well then," she smiled back. Bella left the rest of the meat pies with him. "I would eat those before the sergeant comes by. Dory's meat pies are his favorites, after all."

* * *

"I do not know what you two have been speaking of, Mr. Ridge, but he seems completely out of spirits." Bella was sitting by the window, looking out over the square. She stared at the closed doors of the garrison, where she had just come from. Mr. Ridge's office was even messier now, if that was possible. He was preparing for a coming trial.

"What is your true plan here? Mr. Black is right, in some regards. You cannot just waltz in and have a trial like that—Captain Forster has accused them of a rather heinous crime."

"Indeed, you are right. But proving both Mr. Black and his son innocent of this crime has shown to be rather easy. A lot of people have been more than glad to testify to their characters. But I fear that as soon as they are let out of prison and Mr. Johnson returns to Safeira, Captain Forster will come up with a new accusation and place them in his cells once more. We need to sort out the root of the problem," Lucas said, reading through some of his intangible scribbles and wrinkling his nose. "Not even I can read this, and I wrote it," he murmured to himself, tossing the piece of paper aside.

"You aim to deal with Captain Forster?" Bella asked in a horrified tone. "Surely not, Mr. Ridge!" she exclaimed, turning away from the window and finding him on his fours. Lucas was searching through the stacks of paper on the floor, hoping to find some document of sorts. He looked at a wrinkled paper, pushing the hair fallen into his eyes away and pushing his spectacles up his nose while his eyes squinted.

"Lord Masen asked as much of me and I agree with him. If we could prove Captain Forster's unsavory acts during the last few months, it would be enough to sentence him for years in prison and strip him of his rank—perhaps even hang him."

"Captain Forster is fickle, Mr. Ridge. I would tread carefully here," Bella warned. "I do not know of everything he has done, but if what Jacob implied is true, then Forster might be involved in more than we know of and unearthing such dealings might put you in danger."

"I have confidence in the law, Miss Swan. Mr. Johnson is a just judge and if all goes well, Hayes might see the end of such men like Forster. We all know he has been misusing his power ever since arriving here." Ridge's shoulder's slumped. "I do miss Captain Clarke. A pity, that whole ordeal," he sighed.

"But there are so many more men like Forster out there. You might just be replacing him with someone worse. And there are more like him in Hayes or Angloa to be sure."

"But using the law to take him down will send a message."

Bella understood his reasoning as well as Jacob's. She was torn between both. She only knew Forster to be overly strict when it came to enforcing the law on the people of Hayes. But she now suspected he was guilty of much more. After all, he had constructed false charges against Billy Black just because the man openly spoken against him and wounded his pride. She wondered what else the sly captain had done.

"In any case, I know little of these matters, Mr. Ridge. But I advise you not to tread lightly on this," Bella offered.

Lucas gave her a boyish grin. There was hope and youthful eagerness in his eyes. "I am ready for a challenge, Miss Swan," he said, suspecting she was about to leave. "Be a dear and close the door on your way out," he said after her as she started leaving without any other words to offer.

Bella felt the door weigh heavy as it enclosed Lucas Ridge in his office. She knew her involvement was already more than what was accepted. If Charles Swan found out about it, she would not see the light of day until the end of summer, at least. Bella decided there was little else she could do except for visiting Jacob whenever she got the chance.

She untied April's reins from the railing of the house and mounted her horse, letting the slimmer mare take her home in a slow trot.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to those who read the last chapter. I hope you will have enjoyed this one as well.**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	4. Chapter 4

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 4_

The vast chimneypiece was indeed the main focus of the grand rooms. Like most pieces, it too had been given a classical treatment. The white paint was ornate with gold in the linings and as the fire kept dancing away, its heat radiated through the already much too warm room. Bella saw her reflection in the mirror that topped the fireplace, two ornate china vases with large blooming flowers in black lined the tall mirror in its golden frame.

Her hair was swept away from her face, neat curls pinned at the back of her head with a stray lock resting on her shoulder. She had skipped the whitening cream that so many other girls would use—it only gave them blemishes anyways. She had skipped the rouge as well, pinching her cheeks was enough. The dress was too tight, the modernized dark blue _robe à l'anglaise _with the white front and modest brocade trimmings constricted her breathing. Renée, her mother, had made her wear a new corset for such a formal occasion.

Alas, she looked miserable as the music played on.

Plasterwork ceilings, carved wood, and bold schemes of wall paint formed a backdrop to increasingly rich collections of furniture, paintings, porcelain, mirrors, and a few marble busts lining the walls.

The Masens were celebrating the return of their children—most of them. Edward Masen's absence was noticeable, especially by the other young women attending the party. When word spread that the young son of the Baron was not engaged or married, all women sought to look their best for their first interaction with him.

"He is to arrive in a few months," was all a disconcerted Esmeralda could say as Jessica Stanley and her friends had inquired for him in a most careful manner.

When invitations to the dinner and party at the Masen's had been sent to their house, her father was climbing the walls in excitement. Bella thought he would have a fit as he kept insisting Renée and she got themselves new dresses.

Bella turned to search him in the vast crowd. There, amongst some of his new, rich friends, he stood, in a powdered wig and puffing out his chest, fixing the cravat in place. Bella noted other men wearing the passé powdered wigs while the younger generations opted for gathering their long hair in a loose tail.

She was moving to slip by Jessica Stanley and Angela Webber when she bumped into someone.

"I am terribly sorry," Bella exclaimed as she turned around in horror. She hoped it was not one of those fops—someone who would instantly make a scene. But indeed not.

"The fault is mine, I was not paying attention," the young woman said smiling. Her raven hair was gathered in a tight bun, showing her angular features and striking golden eyes. Her skin was as white as snow and the smile lit up her whole face.

"Have we been introduced?" she asked.

As the quartet continued playing, the buzz in the room died away to the pleasant music. "I do not believe we have, miss," she responded.

The young woman looked pensive. "Do not move from here and I shall be right back!" she said as she disappeared in between the well-dressed men and women. The train of her high-waisted dress was the last she saw before an older gentleman stepped where she once had stood. Bella arched an eyebrow but did as she bade. The strong waft of overused perfume had already managed to bring a headache and the loud chatter combined with the music did not help. She reached for a glass of port and sipped on the alcohol until the young woman kept true to her promise, soon returning with Esmeralda Masen and some young man in tow.

Esmeralda's face lit up as she saw Bella stranded in the middle of the vast sitting room, sipping on a glass of wine.

"Miss Swan," the Baroness exclaimed, taking her hand in hers. "I see you've stumbled upon our youngest daughter," Esmeralda said as she pointed at the young woman with the black hair. "Allow me to introduce Alice, my daughter." Alice curtsied as her mother gestured at her. "And also, allow me the pleasure of introducing her husband, Jasper Hale," she said. A tall, good-looking man with honey blond hair neared them, a faint smile spread on an otherwise shy countenance as he took her hand. Mr. Hale bent over it and kissed it lightly as Bella curtsied.

"This is Miss Isabella Swan, of whom I have been speaking of," Esmeralda said.

Alice's eyes sparkled at the familiar name. "I figured as much, mother. Miss Swan and I practically bumped into one another. I should call that fate," Alice smiled.

"Indeed," Bella added, already liking the spirit of the young woman. "And some clumsiness on my part, perhaps," she blinked. Alice let out a slight laugh.

"We arrived just a few days ago and my breath has been taken away by the countryside. The surroundings here are indeed beautiful," Alice said. She reached for an empty glass on the table next to them and poured a glass for her husband. Alice reached for two other glasses, pouring one for herself and her mother who took it, starting once more to make the rounds of the room.

"I am glad you are liking Cadherra," Bella said with genuine gratitude. "This province has a lot to offer. The view from the Durun Mountains, by Adelton Hall, is breathtaking," she said. As Bella continued speaking of the natural surroundings of her home, she got taken away, despite herself. But to her absolute delight, both Mr. Hale and his wife were swept away with her.

"Miss Isabella Swan, quite the name you have there," Alice smiled and mentioned what any other new acquaintance would.

Bella's ears turned red and the blush claimed her face. If there was one thing she would get annoyed with her mother, it was the name she had been given.

Isabella Swan was not as a familiar a name today as it had been almost three hundred years ago. But many knew the story of General Edward Cullen who had lived and fought for his country during the war with the English and later, during the Angloan war of succession. And many knew his love; Isabella, who had stood faithfully by his side. Theirs was a tragic romance that would have every woman in the country sigh and feel their eyes water and their chests clench as it was told from generation to generation.

In spring of 1521, the revered General Cullen had taken a nasty wound in battle during the end of the Angloan war when an attack was set upon the castle of Adelton Hall. It was said that he had taken his last breath in Isabella's arms and that her cry at his passing could still be heard some eerie nights when the wind tore excessively at the castle's façade. Eventually, the young woman had been invited to court in Safeira, at the request of the new king: William Fell, after the war ended. She was eventually asked to marry him and soon after their bond, her pregnancy was revealed. Questionable circumstances demanded to know if the child she carried had belonged to the famed general. But when the child was born, a healthy daughter, carrying the same copper hair like her father and the same eyes as her mother, there was no doubt as to who had sired her.

The maiden name, Swan, had died away when the countess had married the king. Bella's own family name, Swan, had no connections to that esteemed and noble family, come to Angloa once from Spain—changing their name to the English counterpart.

"There are no ties to that grand family. My father's family had it altered when he was a young man." She frowned a little. "My mother is in love with the story of Isabella Swan," she continued. "I suppose she wished to name me so since we live in the same province that she was Countess of."

Alice let out a slight chuckle. "How wonderful. I think most of us Angloans enjoy that story," she said. Jasper nodded, rather vigorously. "Ah, yes. You see, Miss Swan, my husband is fascinated by history—especially the history this part of the country holds. How quaint your name should have ties with the story of General Edward Cullen."

Her eyebrow arched. "Many come here, hoping to find his grave in Raven's Grove. It is said to be hidden after his funeral, that no one has ever found it during these three hundred years," Bella said, directing her attention to Jasper now. Then she could not help as her lips stretched. "But perhaps you will have more luck than the others. Indeed, I should hope so."

Jasper fought a blush and redirected the attention from him. "I found it intriguing when I heard your name uttered for the first time, Miss Swan," Jasper opened up. The shyness died away as they delved into territory he really enjoyed exploring.

"It is what most people notice once they hear my name for the first time. Thus, I insist most call me Bella," she said smiling.

"I think it is romantic," Alice chimed in. "That you should share name with a former queen of Angloa. How wonderful that your mother is fond of history!"

"Too fond, I fear. At least of that story. But who does not enjoy the tale of the general and his Isabella?" Bella smiled. She turned to Jasper once more. "I have seen some ruins in the forest, but I think they stem from a later date. We do have a statue of Cullen in the old square that was raised half a century after his death. However, I suspect you have seen his portrait that hangs in Wessport Palace and in Safeira," she stated.

"Indeed, I have," Jasper nodded.

"There is a memorial place for him by the edge of the woods. It is not hard to find, I could take you," Bella offered. Jasper's face split into a charming smile—a genuine expression that filled her with warmth.

"I would be most indebted to you."

"Then it is settled," Alice said eagerly. "I will send over someone and maybe we can talk about the specifics over tea someday?"

Bella fought hard not to wince. She hated tea. But obviously Alice and Jasper Hale didn't know that. "That sounds lovely," she lied. Meeting Mrs. Hale she looked forward to, the tea she did not.

"You must meet my older sister and her husband," Alice exclaimed.

Bella agreed with all her heart. She was eager to meet the other sister as well. She had few friends in Hayes. Those she had, worked for her family and they were at different stations in life, whether she liked it or not. People in her circles were not usually those she would want to spend time with. Jessica Stanley and her group of friends would sometimes vex her with their constant gossiping and scrutinizing of other, better people. Bella had no time nor strength for that.

Alice finally found her sister and Bella was taken aback by the beauty that stood speaking and laughing with one of her neighbors, Mrs. Wells. The golden locks of the woman were confined in an elegant up-do, swept away from her face. Her intricate golden eyes shone in the bright candlelight and her red lips broke into a smile as she spoke with the woman.

"Rosalie," Alice called as they ended their sentences. Rosalie turned to face her sister and her company. "I have someone I want you to meet. This is Isabella Swan, the young woman that mama and papa have been speaking so much of," she said as she introduced Bella.

"Miss Swan, this is my sister, Rosalie McCarty."

Rosalie curtsied in a swift and elegant motion. It was clear to Bella that she took after her mother in that department. She held the same elegance as Esmeralda did, the same poise.

"Emmett has run off, or I would have you meet my husband as well," Rosalie said. Bella noted how stiff her face was. She did not smile as easily as her sister. She offered her a cold smirk instead and Bella wondered what she had done for Rosalie to so readily show such distaste for her already. When Jessica Stanley turned around to join them, Bella understood why.

"Oh, Miss Swan, I did not know you would be here tonight," Jessica said in a sweet manner. "How proper!" the young woman exclaimed. "I was just speaking to Mrs. McCarty about our afternoon gatherings and how she and her sister are more than welcome.

"Indeed," Bella said. "Lovely times," was all that she managed rather dryly.

"I hope you do not find our town too dull," Jessica began.

"It is peaceful," Alice said. "But after traveling around so much and living in a hectic city, that is what we might need now."

"I would caution you not to draw such drastic conclusions, my dear," Jessica told Alice.

"Really?" Alice furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Miss Stanley was just telling me the most amazing tale," Rosalie began.

"It is no tale, Mrs. McCarty. These are true events that have happened over the course of the past few weeks." She fanned herself, allowing the liquid in her crystal cup to slide down her throat as she built the suspense.

"Mama mentioned something," Alice said as she tried to remember what it was. Bella kept her mouth shut, trying hard not to send daggers Jessica's way. The sorrows of the Black family were not some amusing tale, it was a sad reality they had to deal with.

"We had a citizen, a Mr. Black, up in arms over some slightly raised taxes. The captain of the Royal Guard stationed in Hayes dealt with him. The rest of the townspeople were up in arms over it, for some reason. The same night of his imprisonment, someone managed to break into the garrison and rescue him in the dead of night!"

"How intriguing," Alice stated. "And how on earth did this person manage to break into the garrison? Are there not enough soldiers manned here?"

"Of course there are. No one knows as no one saw it. The soldiers who were there that night will not speak of it and Captain Forster is more silent than a grave. Trust me, I've tried to coax it out of him," Jessica uttered in slight frustration. "However, as Mr. Black ran away from the law, Captain Forster felt it best to hold someone accountable, so he imprisoned the son."

"What?" Alice and Jasper uttered in unison. "That is highly unjust. Why should he imprison the son for the sins of the father?"

For the first time, Bella slipped into the conversation. "Best not ask questions like these here," she mumbled.

They all sent a glance her way as Jessica kept fanning away. "I have to agree with Miss Swan. Captain Forster does not take kindly to inquisitive people," she pointed out.

"Yet you, Miss Stanley, went after him and demanded answers yourself," Jasper allowed himself to remark.

Jessica shut her mouth then and Bella had to fight hard to hide her smirk. Jasper was right, and it seemed he had made Miss Stanley realize her folly.

"I find these days that things are strange indeed. The reports I hear from France are just ghastly. I always wanted to go there as a little girl and now it seems there is nothing left to go to. Madmen run the government and have painted the streets of Paris red," Rosalie said as she shuddered, quickly changing the subject.

Bella, like most of those around her, knew exactly what she spoke of. But few ever talked of the events on the country across the sea. The king of Angloa was afraid the same thing would happen in his country. Half mad and with half a wit he had given up power to more cunning men.

"We do not bother with such alarming news, dear," Jessica practically muttered under her breath. There were subjects not even she would breach. "And I believe it should be kept that way."

It was not forbidden to speak of the revolution happening in France. But it was greatly sneered upon by Captain Forster and enough to attract his unwanted attention. One morning a family might ponder on the words _liberté, égalité, fraternité_—the next morning they might find themselves in a cell, with charges of civil unrest. The worst of them got charges of treason, quickly dismissed whenever Forster spoke to them; the men would admit to lesser charges just to get away from the gallows, without knowledge as to what their rights were.

Bella, like so many others, had learned it was best not to speak of such things. "We are true and loyal to the crown," Jessica began ceremoniously. "And we will not be carried away like the people were in France. Revolution and rebels have no place here."

She stared emptily at her glass and downed the rest of the port. Her brown eyes glanced around in the room and felt trapped. What Jessica Stanley said couldn't be further from the truth. Had she not heard at least half of the men in this room speak of a new world? The men who now ruled Angloa did so with an iron grip, pressing the people more than they ought to. They were afraid of an uprising, paranoid that their established world would come crumbling down. First, the colonies in the New World had rebelled, now a monarchy had fallen at the hands of its own people. There were other countries in Europe taking precautions, making sure they were not the next in line.

Bella knew what to do—she knew to keep her head down, like the rest of them.

She was drawn back to the conversation, the sound returned, the waft of too strong perfume overcame her, and she perceived Rosalie's dulcet tone speaking with all its refinement.

"…I should think him a brave man then," she finished saying.

"Mr. Ridge is a sweetheart. Too idealistic, alas, if you ask me," Jessica said. "But his heart is in the right place." She sipped on her wine. Bella sometimes wondered if there was more to Jessica Stanley than she perceived. She knew she did not like her nor her gossiping friends. But she found, sometimes, that she caught glimpses of the young woman, that her mask slipped and someone else hiding underneath it fought hard to stay hidden.

"Mr. Ridge is the embodiment of what is good in Angloa," Bella said, staring at the group. "He helps others, not caring what it will do to him. He has ideals that the rest of us should strive for—good and honest ideals that are just and fair. Hayes is lucky to have an attorney such as he," she smiled.

Jessica gave her a small smirk while Rosalie promptly followed. "What is this? A secret endearment? I had no idea, Miss Swan!" Jessica exclaimed. Bella's eyes widened in horror.

"Oh no, you have completely misunderstood me!" she protested. "I did not mean it in that way."

"Of course not, dear. I was just in jest," Jessica blinked. "That reminds me. I heard Captain Forster had spread the word that he wants Billy Black to hand himself over to the Royal Guard. He wants us all to spread the word—to our family, friends, maids, servants and so on."

"He hopes to reach this rescuer that way?" Alice asked, intrigued by the prospect.

"Well, we have no idea of where he stands in society. Spreading the word by mouth seems far better than putting up a notice. How do we know if this person can even read if he even is learned enough for that?" Jessica asked, but more to herself than to anyone in particular.

"He managed to thwart a garrison full of soldiers," Bella remarked dryly. "I think he would know of Forster's thoughts before any of us. He must have his ways."

"Either way, Jacob Black cannot have his trial before his father joins him. Judge Johnson agrees with Forster on this. Young Mr. Black will have to wait an awfully long time if his father continues to tarry."

"I do not believe Mr. Black would make his son suffer. He must not know of this information then," Bella said, defending the old man.

The rest of the evening she spent in the presence of Alice and Jasper Hale. The conversation with Jessica Stanley had brought new information to her. She wondered if Billy Black would demand to be taken back to the garrison. She could almost imagine the rescuer sour at the prospect—sending the man he freed back to his prison. She wondered what kind of man—or woman for that matter—had saved Billy. Bella wondered if Billy would ever reveal his identity to any of them.

* * *

The following morning had taken her to the center of Hayes. She could not sleep as the rays of the sun invaded her bedroom. As summer neared and June was just around the corner, the days grew longer and even warmer. The budding flowers had fully blossomed, and the valley was a painting of different colors as different flowers graced the vast meadow.

She visited the baker and bought some sweet pastries for her and the kitchen staff. She knew Dory loved sugary foods. Bella started nibbling at a pastry when she, together with the other people gracing the old square near the statue, almost stumbled in their step at what they saw.

She dropped the pastry as her mouth followed with it on its descent to the ground. April sensed her change in state and stopped swiftly.

Riding into the square, no doubt on his way to the garrison, was no other than Billy Black in the flesh. Bella could hardly believe what she was seeing. To think the man they had been speaking of and speculating over was now here, before her, was truly surreal.

"Miss Swan," he nodded in acknowledgment as he saw her stare at him in bewilderment. The other townspeople had no words. Mr. Black appeared like a specter in front of them. "I suppose the way to the garrison is clear?" he asked an equally bewildered Mr. Simmons. The old man, always by his chessboard, staring at the passersby, had no words. Only a nod followed the question. Billy smiled and rode onwards.

Bella forgot the fallen pastry as she urged April to follow the older man astride the brown speckled horse. He rode indeed all the way to the garrison whereby he dismounted the horse and sent it on its merry way. The animal knew where to go it seemed, for as soon as the rider had let go for the reins, it doubled back and galloped toward what she suspected was Raven's Grove.

"I am here to give myself up, upon the request of Judge Johnson and Captain Forster—but only on the understanding that my son and I are to have a trial. A _just _trial this time," he said to the soldiers guarding the closed doors to the garrison. They gripped their muskets and could not believe what they were seeing. One of them shouted for the doors to be opened and just at that moment, Sgt. Thompson chose to step out of the inner courtyard. No doubt that he was on his way to the inn across the square.

"Mr. Black?" he exclaimed as he saw Billy stand before him. "I thought you escaped!" the sergeant scratched his head.

"I am returned Sgt. Thompson, here to give myself up," Billy responded. He stretched his arms forward, ready to be taken away.

Slowly Thompson's sluggish mind started working and he realized the chance he had before him. "Lancers, arrest this man!" he exclaimed with childish glee. "Oh, the captain will be so proud with me," he mumbled to himself.

Another lancer turned to the chubby sergeant with a frown on his face. "But sergeant," he said in an innocent voice. "You didn't catch Mr. Black. He handed himself over to us," the soldier remarked. Thompson turned red at such words.

"Hush, buffoon! What matters is that we have Mr. Black. The details of his capture are not important!" he said. Billy rolled his eyes as they took him inside the garrison. The doors closed yet Bella could hear the booming voice of the sergeant shout; "Captain Forster, I have caught your escaped prisoner! He handed himself over!"

She heard some commotion behind those closed doors, but the distinct and striking voice of Forster could soon be heard. "If he handed himself over, you didn't catch him, idiot!" the captain muttered loud enough for her and some other townsfolk to hear through the thick wooden gates.

Bella stared at the closed doors and quickly urged April into a canter. She needed to visit Mr. Ridge and Mr. Johnson.

* * *

Billy heard the impact before feeling it. It was almost sickening, the way the wood hit his body. The air left his lungs and he thought he might not see another sunrise from that moment. He could hear the loud protests of Jacob in the distance.

The old man had suspected he would meet some resistance when returning. The man who had rescued him did not want to let him go—to just waltz in. He remembered so vividly him saying how he could get Jacob out too. But Billy did not want both him and his son wandering around, always looking over their shoulders. His wife may have passed, but he still had a duty to his son.

As the thick piece of wood landed against his ribs again, he started regretting his decision. But Billy was determined to remain quiet.

"You will tell us the identity of the man who snuck you out of the garrison!" shouted Captain Forster. His long dark hair had slipped out of its confinements and some tresses hung in front of his face. He looked like a rabid dog, ready to bite him. But Billy Black would not say anything, even if he could.

The flicker of the candle cast grotesque shadows inside the dim room. He sensed the waft of hay. The metallic tang of blood was unavoidable. He knew where Forster stood—he was the only soldier with the impeccably polished boots.

"He ain't talkin' Cap'n," one of the lancers said.

"He will. Leave us," he heard Forster say through the fog that had started descending on him. Billy fought against the chuckle that threatened to escape him. Had he not been promised fair treatment? Where were Mr. Ridge and this judge when he needed them? Billy wondered if this was how Forster treated others in town. It was clear to him that this was a common practice—to throw people in cells and beat the living daylights out of them.

He heard a scuffle of footsteps and the lancer disappeared, only leaving Billy with Forster.

"Mr. Black," Forster said as he got down on his level, contemplating his work. "We are both honorable men, I would assume," he said with a sneer.

Billy kept his mouth shut. He still had not enough air in his lungs to utter even a syllable. There had to be some pretty nasty bruises forming under his waistcoat. Some ribs might even be cracked for all he knew.

"And men of honor don't tarry about. You can spare yourself this treatment if you would only cooperate," Forster said with such gentle manners that Billy was inclined to believe him. But he would not let himself be manipulated. The vicious captain had taken one step too far. He might have lived like a little lord for this past year. But he overstepped his boundaries and he would pay for it.

"I have little to tell you," the old man managed in one breathless sentence. He winced at the pain it caused in his midriff, gripping at the straw covering the floor as his whole body ached.

There was only the sound of his uneven breaths and the flickering of candlelight. Never had he felt so enclosed before, so trapped. He rose his head out of pride and stared right into Captain Forster's piercing eyes. "And if I could, I would never tell you anything," he said, managing to spit into the soldier's face. The blood mixed with the spit slid down his polished face and Forster ceremoniously wiped it away.

"Very well," was all that he said before stepping away. His face had turned into a cold and undiscerning mask. The lack of emotion disturbed Billy more than when he had seen the rabid ire while Forster beat him. "I shall go and have a visit with your son. Perhaps giving him the same treatment will make you see reason," the man said, stepping away. Billy's eyes widened, and he tried to sit up.

"Wait! No! Not Jacob," was all he managed to say before the heavy iron door enclosed him in that solitary dungeon cell.

He wondered how long he lay there, breathing in and out, trying his best not to give up. The hours merged together, and Billy listened intently for any sign of his son. He heard no screams, so his hope was up high.

At one time, some soldiers came in and helped him wash up and gave him some change of clothes. Billy wondered for what that might be until someone was let into his cell.

He sat leaning against the damp stonewall of the small space when Mr. Ridge stepped in. The lawyer held, as per usual, a stack of paper, dressed in dark, formal clothing and pushed his half-moon spectacles up his nose.

Lucas was taken aback by what he saw. Billy Black, the always proud and forward-thinking man sat in a crumpled heap against the wall—the very picture of defeat. When his black eyes looked up to meet Lucas', he perceived a split lip and some dark bruises forming along the left side of his face.

"What on earth have they done to you?" Mr. Ridge uttered in horror. He rushed to Billy and sat by his side.

"It is the hospitality of Captain Forster," Billy joked, wincing as he had moved too much when speaking.

"Has the man no shame? Does he think he can get away with this?" Lucas asked, but more to himself than to Billy.

"Listen to me, Lucas," Billy began. He had known the man as a faint acquaintance for the time he had lived in Hayes. "Forster is not even worried by the trial—he thinks it will be over quickly. You have to get me, or at least my son, out of here!" Billy exclaimed in desperation. "You have to make sure the trial is open for all to see, not like last time. It was enclosed, and Forster played the part of prosecutor, judge and would-be executioner. I was a breath away from hanging, had it not been for that man," Billy said. "We cannot allow him to do the same thing twice."

"Fear not, Mr. Black. This time will be different. The law works in your favor. It is Captain Forster who should fear it."

But Billy Black had a strange feeling in his gut, something almost primal that told him it would not work out so well. Forster was almost too sure that he would win.

* * *

The date for the trial had been set for the following week, in two days. Bella had kept trying to see Jacob as much as possible in the meantime but was not allowed admittance anymore into the garrison. It was only by bribing Sgt. Thompson with a whole stack of meat pies and various bottles of fine Madeira that she would get access to see the younger Mr. Black.

Jacob was usually in a sour mood, distrusting of most. He had heard of the ill-treatment of his father from Mr. Ridge. But it was something he did not wish to tell Bella Swan. The reason for the delay in the trial was so that Mr. Black's wounds would not be so prominent. If the public knew of his ill-treatment, Forster might take a heavy blow—if the captain should care. It was the madman's belief that fear was the only way to rule the simple people of Hayes with.

It was a cloudy afternoon when the carriage took them through the thick of the forest. Alice kept looking at the scenery in bewilderment. Bella had decided to get away from the drama in Hayes and invited Alice Hale on a trip into the forest, after showing the memorial for General Cullen. They would go by open carriage. Jasper was with them, as was Esmeralda. The women were completely taken with their surroundings.

The mystery of the forest provoked an eerie shudder in them. They did not see far in between the trees, the blueish light that settled in between further guarded the secrets of the woods. The thick crowns allowed little of the gray daylight to filter through.

"I keep expecting to be set upon by a group of bandits," Alice murmured. But she did not seem frightened. Instead, she almost grew giddy. Jasper was taken by the aura of Raven's Grove as well.

"It does indeed feel like this forest hosts the soul of Cullen," he murmured as the wind blew through the trees. Bella offered little conversation as she rested against the side of the carriage, letting the driver take them further on. This was only the main road—it was not that interesting. What truly mattered was the vast world between those trees—a world the ladies and gentlemen present would not venture into.

"You seem distraught, my dear," Esmeralda finally said. Bella snapped out of her thoughts and turned her attention to the group. She found them all eyeing her.

"I apologize," she said with a small blush. "It was not my intent."

Esmeralda, or Esme, as Alice would call her, gave Bella an understanding look. "This whole Billy Black affair and trial has us all unsettled. But I am certain it will soon be over. Are you well acquainted with them?" asked Esmeralda.

The carriage pulled them forward and Bella sensed the winds growing stronger. The trial was in two days, but that felt like a lifetime. "I am childhood friends with the son. They are a respectable and honest family. I am sad to see them treated this way."

Esmeralda took her hands. "Let us return. We shall see the rest of the forest some other day when the sun is out, and the rains don't threaten to fall," the older woman said smiling. It was only then that Bella felt a big drop smash the top of her head. The rains were already upon them it seemed. The driver turned the carriage around and made haste back to the town.

None were aware that in between the trees a pair of shrouded eyes kept watch over them, narrowing as they processed the conversation that now floated through the trees.

* * *

**A/N: My goal is to try to upload two times a week (no promises) since most of this story is already finished, I am working on the final chapters and retouching along the way. Thanks for the reviews! I always appreciate them!**


	5. Chapter 5

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 5_

The day of the trial was a rainy one. It had been nothing but bad weather for the past two days. It seemed a bad omen for Jacob and Billy Black. But, nonetheless, it was the day they would finally know their destiny.

The local courthouse had been prepared. It was not really a courthouse, but the town hall, refurbished to house more people than usual.

Bella had managed to enter. She kept her head bent low as she pulled the scarf further down over her face. Lorraine had lent her some of her clothes. Bella had so wanted to be there, and she knew her father or mother would never let her. And if she was discovered, she was sure that her parents would be informed. The only ones who knew of her presence there were Sara and Lorraine, both standing by her side. And Mr. Ridge—the man who had ushered them in.

"You should not be here," he had said. But he allowed her entry either way. Mr. Ridge knew that it was partially due to Bella that this trial could even take place. She had a right to see how it went.

Never before had she felt such a fluttering in her stomach. She noticed, strangely, that Carlisle Masen was absent. Was he not supposed to support Mr. Ridge?

The hall filled as more townspeople managed to squeeze in. Finally, the tall doors opened at the back of the room and the lancers stepped in with Forster in the lead. Jacob and Billy were led in chains like common thieves through the middle walk to the stand. The judge took his seat and Mr. Ridge sat down next to the accused.

"Let it begin," Johnson said as he straightened the powdered wig. "Prosecution," he said, motioning for Forster to come forth. Bella could not help as an eyebrow arched. Of course, Forster was the prosecution. The captain, in his polished uniform, stepped forth. More medals decorated the military garb than usual. The spotless dark-green coat saw medal upon medal pooling over his chest.

The proud captain neared the stand and smoothed his hair as he began with the accusations. Mr. Ridge sat together with Billy and Jacob, patiently waiting for the captain to finish. When Forster noticed that he held the attention of the entire room, his chest puffed out and he basked in the spotlight. Bella had never before beheld such blatant arrogance.

"It was words of treason that Mr. Black spoke that day—against taxation and the presence of the soldiers in Hayes. I am certain he would have said more," Forster continued in a disgruntled manner. "I gave him a warning, of course. But the man insultingly continued. He insisted on insulting the way our king has seen fit to rule us—thus insulting His Majesty himself," Forster finished in a bow, taking a seat. Bella felt her ire rise. Half of what Forster said was overdramatized and exaggerated.

She turned to look at Mr. Ridge as he calmly got up from his seat. All eyes were on the lawyer as he took to the front. Mr. Ridge pushed the spectacles up his nose and the moment he started talking, the whole room fell silent. Bella's brows arched as she contemplated the man expertly manipulating the words in his favor. Mr. Ridge was good—better than she had expected.

"None of us protest against the good judgment of His Majesty," Lucas said as he bowed to Forster, almost as if taunting him. "Nor does Billy Black. I will remind you all here present that Mr. Black served in the military some decades back, in the war with Portugal. I will also remind you, that he fought side by side with General Hastings and that he was rewarded with a medal of courage by the very same General. I have a statement here from Sir Hastings, that attests to the good nature and patriotism of Mr. Black's character." Lucas read the statement and showed it to the judge and held it up for the court to see.

"We can thus conclude, that Mr. Black did not speak out against his Majesty and that the charges of treason are forfeit. What he spoke out against, however, was the taxations put forth by Lord Newton, who is not present here today," Lucas said. He turned around as if trying to find the lord in the crowd. "I can therefore not directly question the Count of Cadherra in this matter. But since he has not made a statement ever since the imprisonment of any of these men, I suspect he has not taken offense at this matter. The only person who was otherwise implicated here was Captain Forster, who I believe felt himself insulted and turned this matter personal. I further dare to state, after anonymous accounts of various good people in this town, that Captain Forster did push the charges of treason. The public unrest that Mr. Black is charged with does not have any backing as, from what anonymous witnesses have told me, the man did not begin a brawl, he did not start hurling insults at anyone nor did he cause a general stir that unsettled the people at the market that day almost three weeks ago."

Bella could not stop her smile from spreading as she caught sight of Forster's face. Mr. Ridge had been right—there were no grounds for the charges against Billy or his son. This was to be a piece of cake if the law worked as it should.

"Furthermore," Lucas said, grabbing his coat, walking back and forth in slow steps. "The grounds for arresting Jacob Black are nonexistent. It is further proof that this whole matter is a direct cause due to Captain Forster's injured pride. Jacob Black was not present on the day of the market, he was at home, as his cousins and countless other witnesses have stated. He has no tie-ins with these preposterous charges of treason. Thus, it is my recommendation that those who imprisoned Jacob Black should see punishment instead. And I am certain most of you will notice Billy Black's split lip and dark bruise—poor attempts have been made to cover his limp too. These wounds stem from the treatment he has received while in Forster's custody—as Mr. Black has kindly made known to me."

Lucas finished and turned to face the judge. "That is all for now, Your Honor," he said with a bow, going to take the seat. When he was done, the crowd had to restrain itself from cheering out loud. Bella spotted Sgt. Thompson as he started clapping, promptly stopped by a furious Captain Forster.

Johnson leaned forward and looked at the now defamed captain. "We are now calling the accused to the stand to relate their side of the story," the judge said.

Billy was first. He told of the day of the market, the hasty trial in which he had not even a defendant and the unavoidable execution, without even being able to see his family. He finished with his rescue, relating that he was thankful to the man who saved his life and that he would not be standing here otherwise—but that he had no name to give them. Jacob followed his father and related the last few weeks in prison, saying how he was given no information as to why he was there except for being related to his father, who had escaped the prison.

When father and son were done, Bella was certain the trial would end that very same day and perhaps with Captain Forster paying a hefty price for it.

"Are there any other proceedings the prosecution wishes to take?" Mr. Johnson asked Forster. The man had grown sour and he fought against everything not to lash out against the judge.

"I wish for the trial to resume tomorrow," the captain spat. Bella furrowed her brow.

"Tomorrow?" the judge asked. Forster had, as the prosecution, right to ask to resume the trial. But that was only in case he needed to further bring forth more evidence against the accused.

"These men, together with Mr. Ridge are working to defame me. But my accusation of treason remains. This whole town works to defame me, Your Honor, and I shall prove it to you. The Royal Guard is a protection for the people, even if that means protection for the people against themselves. These men, Jacob and Billy Black, have tried to rally these good men and women into rebellion," he sneered.

Mr. Johnson rose an eyebrow. "Indeed?" he said. He wondered what Forster would try next. But he had no other choice than to allow him what he asked.

He turned to Mr. Ridge. "Does the defense have any other wishes?"'

"Indeed. We wish to call Captain Forster to the stand tomorrow," Lucas said with a sly smile. As soon as he said those words a collective gasp floated through the crowd—Bella was one of them.

Forster stood up, undignified. "This is preposterous!" he exclaimed. "I am a Captain of the Royal Guard, I will do no such thing!" he spat.

Mr. Johnson leaned forward. "Under usual circumstances, I would agree with you, Captain Forster. You should not be questioned as such in a civilian court. However, seeing all the evidence _against _you, I am inclined to agree with Mr. Ridge here," the judge said. "We will resume this trial tomorrow as per your request. Under the meantime, both accused will be allowed back into their homes, with the exception of two guards stationed there to keep an eye on them."

Johnson turned to Jacob and Billy. "I suspect you will not run away," he mused. Billy gave a slight chuckle, joined in by his son.

"No indeed," the man said with a light heart. He could not believe how well their endeavor had gone. Never in a million years did he think Mr. Ridge would speak so well for their case.

Bella could not believe it. Hayes could not believe it. The success of Mr. Ridge and the trial spread like wildfire throughout the gossipy town. She had barely been home for an hour before even her parents got wind of the news. Bella started believing in Mr. Ridge then, in his view of the law. It could work for the benefit of those less fortunate. Men like Captain Forster could not bend it—it was just, after all.

She returned the following day, eager to see the downfall of the arrogant captain. Bella still kept hidden. She spotted Lucy in the crowd.

The accused were brought to the stand, as well as Forster. But he blatantly refused and there was little Mr. Johnson could do against it.

"But you do understand, captain, that this behavior is most disagreeing. I am in a mind to open an investigation against you!" the judge's voice boomed in the room with fury as he furrowed his brow.

"I will not take the stand because I have not done anything wrong!" the proud captain countered arrogantly. Bella could not hide the scoff that escaped her. How ironic it was that Forster should find himself in that position.

"Wha' a hypocrite," Lucy said in a tone most could hear. It might have been meant as a whisper by her, but at least half of the courtroom got wind of her comment. Forster grew red at the comment and was about to give the tall woman a piece of his mind when the judge interrupted him.

"The evidence you have provided us for the charges against Billy Black is not enough," Johnson started.

"I have further evidence to provide today," Forster said with a smug smile. Bella grew confused, like most others in that room. What could the captain possibly have that would thwart the case? The captain motioned for Sgt. Thompson to come forth. The sergeant hesitated but did as his commanding officer had ordered. The plump man presented a small pamphlet to the judge.

"The soldiers posted as guard at Mr. Black's residence last night found this in Jacob Black's room," the captain said. Bella could not see the contents of it. She stretched her neck to get a better view—alas it was for naught. The young woman had to wait like everyone else.

The captain told Sgt. Thompson to show it to Jacob and Billy. "Do you recognize this?" he asked them. Billy remained silent, but Jacob showed a look of recognition as he saw the piece of paper. He understood then that they were doomed.

Forster took the pamphlet and held it so that the onlookers could see. "This is a pamphlet with French propaganda!" he exclaimed dramatically. Bella could finally read the bold letters "_liberté, égalité, fraternité_" on the front and her heart sank in her chest. Those pamphlets were not uncommon in Angloa. Trading ships would often bring them over to the coastal towns and they would somehow get redistributed along the countryside. She had one at home as well—she had read that very same pamphlet. But the young woman knew it was of little importance. Everyone had read one at one time or another. However, she could now see how Forster could construct a case around the new evidence. It was, after all, still French propaganda—come from the bosom of the rebellion itself that had taken down one of the most powerful monarchies in Europe.

"The very prospect of owning this pamphlet could be constituted as treasonous. But I did not just find one pamphlet, I found _several_ in young Mr. Black's chambers," the captain said with such a proud and smug face that Bella had a mind to wipe it off him in one fell swoop.

Mr. Ridge had not yet said a word. He turned to whisper something into Jacob's ear and then spoke in hushed tones with Billy.

"This… changes things," Mr. Johnson said.

"Your Honor, we would like to postpone this trial until further notice. This is evidence I must speak with my clients of," the lawyer said, fighting hard to keep the same neutral pitch to his voice. It was clear to anyone that he was agitated, but Bella knew not to what extent.

The judge scratched the head under the powdered wig. The trial had not even been in session for half an hour until it was disbanded again. As soon as the wooden hammer fell, the mouths of everyone present started running.

New speculations and rumors now formed that Jacob Black was a rebel, a revolutionary—that he had indeed rescued his father all those weeks ago under some sort of guise. Bella and Jacob's eyes crossed for an instant and she saw nothing but fear, anger, and defeat in them. He had given up, it seemed.

Later that evening, Bella returned to speak with Jacob. He had once more been taken to a cell in the garrison after the incriminating evidence. She had seen him slouch against the wall, just like the first day, rid of hope, rid of anything substantial.

He did not even look up when she was let in, yet he knew it to be her. "I am finished with this town, Bella. I am finished with them all."

"Why? Was that pamphlet really yours?" The look he gave her was all she needed. "I mean, we all have had one in our possession at one time or another. We just need everyone in town to bring this information forth and you will be—"

"Hush you fool! How can you openly say that you yourself hold such a thing in your possession?"

"It was never against the law to have such a pamphlet," Bella argued, but she understood what he meant.

"They guessed we would be smart enough to not let those three French words beguile us."

"How many pamphlets did you have?" she asked after hesitating.

"A few dozen," he whispered after a tense moment.

"Oh Jacob," Bella allowed herself to say with defeat in her voice. "And what does Mr. Ridge say?"

"The man acts as if it is his head on the line. I worry about him. You should visit him after you're done here. Let's face it, I am not getting out of here again."

"You have a true heart, Jacob—to be worrying for someone else in a less dire situation than yours," she said, unable to stop the soft smile spreading on her gentle features. Jacob could only offer her a fatigued smile in return.

"What can I say, only a true fool would worry for others in a situation like this one."

Bella rose from where she sat. "I will go see Mr. Ridge. I trust in his ability to remedy this. We should look at this trial as a God-send. It will allow us to show that the law is still just."

She knew he wanted to protest her, but Jacob kept his mouth shut and let her have her naïve impression of the world—even if only for a little bit longer.

The evening went on and for the first time, Bella felt the true warmth of the summer sweep over her. Every year she forgot that pleasant feeling of riding April on the cobblestone streets of Hayes, her mind lost, and her form relaxed. The air would fill with the sweet fragrance of blossoms and the soft chill was not as biting as during the early and late spring. The wind kissing her bare skin was cooling and caressing—welcomed by her, for one.

The young brunette was let into the small upper floor apartment by his maid, Miss Haste—a woman growing frail, her head never rising from the floor, the eyes always glued to her feet.

"Mr. Ridge wasn't expectin' no-one," she whispered as she led her up the stairs.

"That is quite alright, Miss Haste, I am an acquaintance, you have surely seen me here before?"

The maid stopped. The shorter woman rose her face to meet Bella's. The dull eyes glued to her chocolate orbs and a gentle hand came to rest against her arm. "I suggest you return in the mornin', miss," she said. The older maid held the same accent as Lucy—not as pronounced, but Bella could still perceive the local dialect in her speech.

"I am certain Mr. Ridge will not mind," she said, growing tense at the friendliness of the maid. The older woman shrugged her shoulders and took her up the last of the stairs, knocking on the door.

"I've a Miss Swan here for you, sir," she said in a weak voice through the cracks of the door. The light had started fading and Bella saw the candlelight spill out into the hallway. Its eerie yellow hue made her stomach turn, for some reason—a premonition, an instinct within her told her to turn away. But her brain and willpower got the better of her and told her to stay put.

A muffled voice spoke. "Go away, Maria!" she heard. Bella sighed and went to knock on the door herself. "Please, Mr. Ridge, Lucas. I just need to speak with you about today's matters," she said in a pleasantly calm voice.

The young brunette and the maid exchanged a look as silence followed. But then, someone scrambled to their feet and went to unlock the frail door. Yellow light spilled into the hallway and Bella was quickly rustled inside, the door closed behind her.

"Mr. Ridge, this is highly improper of you—" she stopped herself short as she caught sight of his face. Bella saw a man about ready to crumble, only a thin string holding him anchored to his hopes and dreams. "Lucas?" she began carefully. "What on earth is the matter?"

"I will fail Jacob and his father," Lucas said as his voice broke. He hid his face in his hands and turned away from her, sulking to his chair. Bella waded through a sea of documents and intangible papers. She saw his unreadable scribbles on the wrinkled paper and her teeth gritted together.

"You will not," the young woman said. "I know you will not."

Lucas turned around and grabbed her by the shoulders. "And what can I do? There is _evidence _against Jacob Black now—hard evidence that points at Captain Forster's suspicions being true!"

"Could they not have been planted?" she asked.

"I thought the same, but Jacob Black absolutely assures me that they are his," Lucas lamented.

"But you must not despair!" Bella went to his side. "This is your time to really show us, Hayes—Angloa, that the law is just. This is your time to show that—"

"Listen to me carefully, Miss Swan. If I do not manage to get Mr. Black and his son acquitted from all their charges, it will prove once and for all that the law does not work. I know very well that owning such pamphlets are legal. But now Captain Forster will manipulate the law and use their existence against Jacob. I cannot bring forth people from town attesting that most have read such propaganda—afraid that they themselves will be taken into the garrison and fall into Forster's clutches."

Bella understood the conundrum. The charges of treason had no real evidence against them. Forster could not procure witnesses that would willingly attest that Billy and Jacob Black were rebels. But what the devious captain had done was more than enough. By demonstrating the various pamphlets within Jacob's possession, he had thus given reason to doubt in Jacob's loyalty to the crown. Owning one pamphlet was quite harmless—owning a few dozen could spell out his death sentence.

"What will you do?" she managed in a frightful whisper. Bella did not want to think of the possibilities now presented for the Black family.

"There will be a final trial tomorrow, Miss Swan. I suggest you do not go there tomorrow for after it is done you will never think highly of me again," he lamented. He lingered on her for a moment. "If Maria ever seeks you out…" he murmured in a silent whisper, almost not reaching her.

"What are you talking about?" she frowned.

Lucas shook his head. "Nothing, now go, I wish to wallow in my misery alone." He flicked his hand in a dramatic gesture and had the situation been different, Bella might have rolled her eyes. But she put herself in his place and found that Lucas Ridge took the whole situation with probably more dignity than she would have.

* * *

The tension in the sleepy little country town had reached new highs. The townsfolks agreed that such excitements had probably not been seen since the days of the war of succession. Many had ventured to the church, St. Nicholas, on the outskirts of Hayes to pray for father and son.

It was early morning, and many had left their mundane chores in pursuit of the spectacle that was soon to play out in the town hall. Although many had crowded to get a glimpse of the trial the previous days, it seemed the whole town had now gathered at the square. Bella had not managed to enter and found herself squashed between the baker's wife and some of their shop helpers. The constant low murmurs provoked such a headache in her that she had a mind to leave that blasted place and return to see Mr. Ridge later the same evening.

Captain Forster arrived with his soldiers, joined by Sgt. Thompson and a train of lancers astride proud horses. They pushed aside the crowd and the young woman could not ignore Thompson's muted "do pardon us," or his heartfelt attempts to excuse himself, his soldiers and even his officer. It wasn't until Forster gave him a slap on the back of his head that Thompson shut up. He looked like a child ready to cry as his tousled hat fell to the ground. It rolled until reaching Bella's feet and she was just to hand it to the pudgy sergeant when she caught sight of Jacob and his father. They were mounted on a cart—like common thieves—being paraded through the square. If Forster expected the townspeople to turn against father and son, he expected wrong. An impressive silence followed as Billy and Jacob, with their hands tied behind their backs, were practically dragged from the wooden cart and pushed into the town hall. Mr. Ridge ran behind them, loudly protesting at the actions of the soldiers and especially directing some rather unsavory remarks in Forster's way.

The spectacle was not soon to die down as Forster proudly marched in with the accused, quickly joined by those who'd managed to get seats in the town hall. Bella pressed her way through the public, but fate did not seem to be on her side. The shawl shielding her face fluttered with her frustrated sigh. There was no use. Too many had come, and no room was left. All she could do now was stand and wait with the rest of them.

The townspeople speculated in heated discussions as the trial continued. Many wondered what Ridge would do and say. They had heard of his wit at the previous trial and many had wanted to see it for themselves—Bella included. She stood on the cold steps, between some handy workers and a group of older ladies always frequenting the cheaper tea parlors downtown that couldn't hold up a candle to Lucy's tavern.

"Methinks Forster will get away wi' it," one of them sneered, spitting at the ground and glaring at the closed oak doors. Many had sat down on the dirty stone steps leading up to the town hall. Some soldiers stood positioned by the doors, ready to fend off any who would near too much. But, as the minutes ticked by, the lancers relaxed, not concerning themselves with those who got closer and closer. Soon, they sat amongst the people, sipping the wine and tasting the bread that was being passed around.

"Methinks men like Forster always get away wi' things like these 'ere," another cackled.

"Methinks you should shut up," Bella muttered under her breath at their constant banter amongst themselves. The chicken coop soon moved to another part of the square, loudly squabbling and speculating. It wasn't long until they had started placing bets.

"Whatcha doin' here?" came a grunt behind her. Bella swirled around on her heel, wrapping the brown wool shawl closer around her.

Little Lucy stood towering over her with a puzzled look claiming her harsh features. Her eyebrow arched as she took the young woman aside. "This here is no place for a lady such as yerself," she hissed. "What would Mr. Swan say if he found out 'bout this?"

"Lucy, please, keep your voice down!" Bella hissed, claiming back her arm. She rubbed the sore spot where the brutish woman had gripped her. A look of guilt swept over Lucy's features when she realized she'd hurt Bella. "My father doesn't need to know I am here. I am only as curious as the rest of you lot," Bella exclaimed once they had moved aside.

"Well, ya listen to me, Miss Swan. If the trial ends with Forster winnin', be sure the townspeople will make their protests heard, in one way or another."

"They would never go against Captain Forster," Bella argued, looking around at the vast crowd.

"In one way or another, girl. They might not take it out on Forster, but someone will have to take the blame." Bella swallowed hard, not wanting to imagine as to what exactly Lucy was referring to. "Best tag along home now and wait for news there." If they protested, Bella did not want to imagine what Forster would do against the people. He would have a reason to lock more of them up.

"But Lucy—" Bella began protesting when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. In her short life, there was little which could explain the sensation now coursing through her veins. But she felt it, out on the open, surrounded among so many people. She could not ignore the itching sensation pushing at the back of her neck. It was that awful feeling of being intensively watched as if the eyes of the beholder would burn her down with their force. Bella turned around in one fell swoop, searching the crowd, trying to find whoever had invoked such an uncomfortable sensation in her. But she never found them: the eyes that had managed to break through her barrier and all common sense.

Lucy tried to speak to her, but a commotion by the town hall soon claimed their full attention. The doors opened with all the drama of a storybook. They tried catching a glimpse as people soon stepped outside. "Lucy, you are taller, what do you see?" she asked her friend. Bella could only see the hundreds of heads, all vying to get a peek of the same thing.

"Forster is steppin' out with his clowns," Lucy chuckled. Sgt Thompson was visible, even from a distance—such was his frame.

"Then Mr. Ridge must have managed to acquit Jacob and his father from all charges!" she exclaimed. But a dark shadow soon washed over Lucy's features. "What is it?" the young woman inquired, her heart skipping a few beats.

"They've got Billy Black in shackles, and his son is protesting." Lucy turned to Bella as the crowd successively got louder and louder. "You go now, miss, before things get outta hand," she urged as she pushed the young woman away.

Bella tried to stop her, but as the crowd started turning into a semblance of a mob, her heart shot up to her throat and she soon started on her journey to the confinements of her house. Bella ran through the crowd as they protested. Someone fired a bullet into the air, the action was soon followed by terrified screams.

"I will deal with each and every one of you if you continue this vile protesting. And I will not be as benevolent as I have been with Mr. Black!" she heard Forster cry out into the crowd. Bella did not look back as the voices died down. The townspeople were too afraid to say anything. She bit her teeth together as she saw them quickly disperse, accepting the ruthless man who ruled them.

* * *

"Jacob Black walks a free man," Jessica Stanley said as she sipped on her tea. Bella fought the urge to push the china out of her delicate hands. They were once more at the Stanley's elegant drawing room. But, this time, Alice joined her.

"But his father has been sentenced to prison," Miss Webber added. "For a very long time, I should think."

"That is horrible," another one of them said. The heavy perfume bore down on Bella, causing a migraine to form within the depths of her head.

"Well, young Mr. Black should not have kept such traitorous pamphlets then," Jessica wrinkled her nose. "I must say, I positively do not recognize what Hayes is becoming. This used to be such a quiet little town. And now we have rebels and mysterious jailbreakers. What on earth will be next?" she exclaimed.

"A little excitement can never go wrong," Alice chuckled. The other ladies in the drawing room agreed without question. Alice was from a wealthy and old family, married to an honorable gentleman. If she said the sun was blue, they would no doubt agree with her as well, Bella thought.

"At least Mr. Black will have his life left," Miss Webber offered.

"And what life is that?" Bella asked. "To be locked in with no freedom to go anywhere? We all know he only took the fall for his son."

"Why, Miss Swan, that is the purpose of a prison," Jessica sneered. Bella rose from her seat and walked toward the window. She would not let Miss Stanley know to which lengths such a comment vexed her.

"Well ladies, now the real excitement comes!" Veronica Moore said expectantly. The redhead's voice was on the point of bubbling over as she squinted her brown eyes in anticipation.

"What excitement do you speak of? The trial is over," Angela Webber stated with clear boredom as she poured herself another cup of tea—tea that was too sweet for Bella's liking.

"Billy Black was saved from his imprisonment once, who says he will not be again?"

"Do not be a fool. Only a complete idiot would try to break him out twice. Captain Forster is no doubt prepared for him this time," Jessica said.

But Bella wondered. Maybe there was a chance. She suspected Billy Black had no thoughts on living the rest of his life as a runner from the law. But better that than be locked in for decades.

Chocolate eyes swept over the small gathering of young and distinguished ladies. How she wished she could be away from that place. It was a beautiful day; the sun graced the sky and the breeze was warm and pleasant. Sitting inside wasted what nature had to offer. Her brows knitted together as she reluctantly took another sip, forcing down the vile liquid.

"Well, ladies. It is time for my departure. I have already stayed for too long. I must go to my husband for I promised him we would walk the forest path this afternoon," came the sweet tone of Alice's dulcet voice.

"You are leaving so soon?" Jessica was clearly disappointed, but she did not object to Alice's early departure. She could not object to someone who was higher in rank than she.

"And I am afraid Miss Swan will have to join me, for she was the one who was to show me the forest path. I believe she promised me a while back." Bella turned only to see Alice giving her a wink. "Is that not so, Miss Swan?"

Bella fought hard against smiling. "I believe Mrs. Hale is right. I hope you will forgive me as well, Miss Stanley?"

Jessica looked ready to protest, but when Alice tilted her head and rose an eyebrow, the young woman kept her mouth shut. "I shall see you soon, I hope," was all she offered them. Alice, satisfied with her little victory and show of force, took Bella in the fold of her arm and they were soon outside, sitting in Alice's carriage.

"Dear lord what a frustrating woman!" Alice exclaimed. Bella could not stop a chuckle.

"I am in your debt."

The raven-haired woman rolled her eyes. "One minute longer in that room and my head would have exploded. Do they perfume every single inch of it before receiving guests?"

"It is a question I have asked myself many times."

"And to think you have put up with this longer than I," Alice laughed.

Bella squirmed in her seat. It was true she was grateful to Alice for having rescued them both from a boring evening. But she now worried what the consequences would be from their actions. What would Jessica Stanley do after this affront? Bella was certain she alone would bear the consequences.

"But I do not presume you really want to go for a walk on the path today?" she asked.

Alice shook her head and offered an apologetic smile as she smoothed out her turquoise taffeta gown. "I hope I did not disappoint you, Miss Swan. I really had to see my husband. But I noticed your state of boredom and thought I could help you out of there. I have not gone too far, have I?"

"Indeed not, Mrs. Hale! I never wish to be hard on anyone, but Miss Stanley and her companions take a lot of energy. I am accepted there because it is expected. But I am not comfortable there. I much prefer being outside on a day such as this."

"Then you will venture into Raven's Grove? I hope you do not go by yourself," Alice stated with worry lacing her voice.

"I always have my maid and a servant follow," Bella lied. She had no wish to explain herself to the young woman. They were becoming fast friends and she had no wish to lose that friendship.

Alice smiled. "Then let me take you home. Perhaps we could try for the forest path again, later this week?"

"I would like that. Perhaps Lady Esmeralda and Mr. Hale could join us like last time?"

"Jasper would be thrilled, as would mama."

"Then it is settled," Bella blinked. The carriage soon pulled up in front of their townhouse.

"If you are otherwise unoccupied this week, I would love for you to come and visit us! I promise we do not so readily perfume our drawing rooms before receiving any guests!" Alice chuckled as the driver closed the elegant black carriage door. Alice still looked out the open window as the summer breeze pressed on.

"I would love to, Mrs. Hale," Bella answered back.

She watched the carriage disappear and soon blended into the façade of the house, hoping her parents nor any servants had yet spotted her. Bella sighed down at the soft yellow muslin gown. It was one of her finer dresses. But she had no wish to go back inside and change, afraid she might stumble on any of her parents. There would be too many questions—the most prevalent of them being why she was home so early.

So, the young woman did the only sensible thing she could think of. She ran into the servant's quarters and borrowed a skirt from Lorraine. It was already tainted and dirtied, so she would probably not be too angry with her. Bella put the yellow gown aside and wrote a note.

_I borrowed your blue skirt—the dirty one. Guard this dress for me until I return._

_And do __not__ tell my parents I was home so early or that I borrowed your dress! I shall be back for supper!_

_Bella_

She hastily braided her hair and went to get April.

Warmth coursed through her body as the wind tore at her. April had grown lighter in the past weeks. She moved with more speed and agility than before. The eager horse was ready to set out in a full gallop, stretching her legs to disappear within the mysterious darkness of Raven's Grove.

"Miss Swan!" someone shouted behind her. Bella turned around to see Dory run out to the back courtyard.

"I will be home for supper, Dory, don't tell my parents!" she shouted back before she urged April into a fast canter. The touch to her sides was all the eager mare needed before spurting away. Bella did not look back as she heard Dory shout after her. She only relished in the freeing sensation on flying over the ground, tethered to her horse.

They reached the solitude of the forest soon and Bella slowed her mare down. Raven's Grove was as eerie as always. There was a heaviness to the air that always bore down on her. Bella could not explain the present tension the forest had—as if a mysterious secret was waiting to be revealed.

She soon reached a stream and got down from her horse. April was let free to graze; Bella would not feed her any supper—keeping the mare to her strict diet.

A twig broke in between the trees and both horse and rider turned toward the sound. Bella stepped back, gripping at the saddle, finding nothing she could defend herself with. A nearby branch was her only choice. The young woman picked it up and held it in front of her as April nervously trotted in place.

"Who goes there?" Bella demanded, her voice breaking at the end. She chastised herself at sounding so weak and vulnerable. "Show yourself!" she exclaimed, her voice jumping up a few octaves as her nerves bore down on her.

A shadow stepped out from the shade of the trees and into the clearing by the stream. The young woman nearly dropped her branch when she recognized both the horse and his rider.

He bore the same tattered clothes and hunched over in the same manner. The horse looked as wretched as ever. But the man walked with a decisive step as he neared her. His starving horse rushed to the stream and drank as April curiously ogled him.

Bella stood still, afraid any movement on her part might attract his unwanted attention. But the hooded man soon turned to her—it was inevitable, after all. He took a long look at the young woman, holding a branch too heavy for her, dressed in a dirty blue skirt with a loose white shirt, some twigs and leaves nestled in the messy braid resting on her left shoulder.

She could not see his face, shadowed by the massive hood, but Bella felt his eyes drift past her and regard April. Her mouth settled in a thin line as she arched an eyebrow.

"She looks thinner, your mare," the husky and muffled voice said after a tense moment. Bella lowered the branch and finally cast it aside with a sharp intake of breath.

"She has always looked like that." There was no way that she would ever admit to having listened to him.

"I mean, she is still quite round. But she doesn't look to be carrying a foal now, at least."

The young woman's head turned to stare at him as her nostrils flared in irritation at his insult. "Have you come here to insult me and my horse yet again?"

He put up his hands in defense. "Miss, I never insulted you, just your horse." She could almost hear him stifle a laugh.

She stepped up to him in complete anger, ignoring that she was alone in the woods with a complete stranger whose face she had not seen. If she screamed, no one would hear her.

"How dare you?" the young woman exclaimed.

"I dare nothing," he laughed, revealing the amusement lacing his voice. "You are just very easy to irritate. But I guess most fine ladies are," he chuckled.

"Fine lady?" Bella stared down at her clothes and then at him. "You must not have met many people in your life. But then again, anyone wearing clothes without tears or holes in them might seem like fine folk," she quipped back. Bella was pleased with her answer and now waited for his retaliation. Although his voice still held a hint of an accent, he spoke in a neutral manner, too refined to be a simple farmer, too casual to be a gentleman.

She was not expecting the laugh that followed. The man grew more relaxed as they quarreled on. "Anyone having a horse as big as yours must come from a wealthy family—unless you are feeding her from your own mouth?"

"I put her on a bloody regimen! She lost weight!" Bella exclaimed, wafting her arms about. As soon as she had uttered the sentence, she promptly shut her mouth and sensed a blush creeping up her neck. The hooded man's head tilted to the side and, if she could have seen his face, Bella was sure he would have been smirking.

"I thought you said you did not listen to my advice?" The blush spread across her features and her face was red enough to simulate the color of a tomato.

She fished around her vocabulary to find anything that could save her from such a humiliating situation. But Bella had grown mute, or she had grown dumb. "I—I," she said, trying to buy time.

"Yes?" The infuriatingly smooth voice asked. It rumbled across the clearing as April munched away at the green grass. Bella cast a glance at the mare and silently cursed April for not backing her.

"I do not have to answer to you," she sneered, looking away. Bella blushed deeper at her own childish behavior.

The hooded man went over to the stream and sat down, leaning against a tree, relaxing in its shadow.

"That is the beauty of being here. You do not have to answer me. Had we been anywhere else it might have been different."

"Had we been in Hayes, you would have had to answer to me," Bella filled in.

"Exactly." His sudden change in subject and choice of words intrigued her. Instead of running away like she had last time, trying to swallow the shame she had felt at their encounter, she stood her ground. This man had started to interest her. Before he had been some infuriating hermit. But now he was an _interesting _infuriating hermit.

"Is that why you roam these woods because you do not approve of society?"

"You do the same thing, miss, if I am not mistaken. This is the only civilized place to be." Had he not been so carelessly insulting her before, Bella would have voiced her agreement.

She scoffed as the hermit pronounced _miss_ with such care. "You mean to tell me you actually live here, all year around?" She could not imagine anyone surviving the harsh Cadherra winters.

"Of course not, do you believe me daft enough to stay the winters here?" he chuckled.

"Yes," Bella deadpanned. "I believe you are daft enough for many things—including insulting a lady."

"I thought you said you were not a lady."

Bella smirked. "All women are ladies in my eyes, and in the eyes of those who matter."

"Touché." The hooded man still did not look bothered that she had won their little banter. "But you do escape Hayes to come here, do you not?" Bella remained silent. "Or maybe you are getting away from Hayes not due to the ever-constant duties required from you by society, but to flee the growing tensions as the trial of Mr. Black and his son take place."

"You know about the trial?"

"Ha!" he exclaimed, his sudden outburst making the young woman jump in her place. "If you can call that a trial," the man mused.

"I will have you know that both Jacob and Billy Black had the finest lawyer of Cadherra, perhaps even southern Angloa," she stated, defending Mr. Ridge.

"And yet, Billy Black lost his freedom."

"The trial was just, sir."

"Owning French propaganda pamphlets are not against the law, last time I checked. What Jacob Black had was not incriminating. The judge presumed and judged him poorly. Billy Black took the fall for his son."

"Mr. Johnson is the fairest man in this part of the country."

"Exactly. What would have happened to father and son if a lesser man had judged them? The law is not just, it failed them both. Billy Black spoke out against the oppression of the soldiers and look where it got him."

"Where did you learn all this if you live in the forest?"

"I'm not completely uncivilized, miss. I venture into town for provisions here and there." Bella had never heard any gossip of a hermit in Raven's Grove. The more this hooded man spoke, the more she wanted to find out about him.

"You speak like a revolutionary," she murmured to herself.

"I speak common sense. We are led to believe that everything is right when it is not."

"You are a revolutionary, is that it? Is this why you have confined yourself from society?" she asked, hoping to dig up more answers.

"I am only a humble traveler. I do not get involved with politics."

"But you have a decidedly strong opinion about them."

Suddenly her eyes widened as she stepped closer to him. "You were the one who saved Billy Black from the gallows!" she exclaimed, pointing a finger at him. Her exclamation brought the man to such a state of laughter that Bella had to regard him with a puzzled look. "What is so funny?"

"How could I have rescued that man when I cannot even ride my horse properly?" he said between fits of laughter. The hooded man pointed at his wretch for a horse. "I do not think old Samson would have brought me far before the soldiers had caught up with us. No, miss, I did not save your Mr. Black. But it is an alluring thought!"

Bella blushed harder, dismissing the thought as quickly as it had come to her. The hooded man was right. He could not have saved Billy Black. The fact that his horse did not fit the description reinforced this. But the way he held himself—so casual and relaxed, so hunched over, told of a man not ready for a fight nor agile enough to break into the garrison.

"But you approve of the man who helped him?"

"I do," was the answer she got. Bella nodded slowly. Moving away from him. She had not escaped to Raven's Grove to ponder philosophic questions with a complete stranger—that also managed to unnerve her to new lengths.

Bella dragged her mare away from the grass and mounted her. "Take care to keep her on the same regimen—it seems to be working!" the stranger shouted after her as the young woman left without bidding her goodbyes.

"Insufferable man!" she shouted back with full force.

Their conversation had only managed to jumble her mind even more. Bella had more questions now about everything than before.

As she neared the town—the light of dusk slowly vanishing as darkness settled within the valley—she promised herself she would keep an eye out for the stranger in town. The forest was his element, but Bella was sure she could further question him in town. And she would discover just who hid under the tattered old hood. There was a reason he was not showing his face—of that she was sure.

As she left the black forest, there was a loud commotion in Hayes as a myriad of torches gathered by the square close to the garrison. Bella knitted her brows together as a premonition settled in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong, and she could sense it in the air. She smacked her lips and urged April to move forward faster, riding past her house.

The torches were held high as the townspeople murmured and the soldiers stood guarding the house of Mr. Ridge. Eerie flickers of dancing flames cast long shadows on the small crowd.

Bella dismounted her horse and ran up, almost smacking into the back of none other than Jacob Black.

"What on earth is happening here?" she asked amidst the mumbles and confusion. The shadow on Jacob's face further worried her as people talked amongst themselves.

"Mr. Ridge's maid, Maria Haste, came out screaming from his house a while ago. She made haste for the garrison and Captain Forster has been in there for about thirty minutes now. Dr. Blake was called some ten minutes ago."

Bella turned to stare at the closed door while her stomach dropped. Out came a small train of soldiers, all of them staring at the ground with muted frowns gracing their faces. Captain Forster stepped out into the frisky night air and placed his military hat atop his proud head. Bella could not read the expression on his face.

After him, came two soldiers, both carrying a flimsy stretcher with a white cloth covering whatever lay on it. The air left her lungs in a steady stream as Bella realized, together with most of the onlookers, who was beneath that white cloth.

"Move along, there is nothing to see here!" said Captain Forster as he squared his jaw while the body of Mr. Ridge was placed on the back of a cart, most likely to be taken to the funeral office.

"Dear Lord," she whispered as her voice shook. "Mr. Ridge is dead?" Bella's lip quivered as her body started trembling. The soldiers looked as shocked as the villagers. Some citizens talked in hushed voices amongst themselves—the murmur escalating.

"Before they all run off gossiping, Sgt. Thompson, I suggest you round these good people up and let them know what happened before we have an outbreak of hysteria in Hayes," Forster snapped at the sergeant when he noted the townspeople stood rooted, waiting for answers.

"But, captain, I don't know what happened to poor Mr. Ridge," Sgt. Thompson answered innocently, his big gullible eyes widening even more as he stared confused at his commanding officer.

Bella heard the sigh rattling through Forster's lungs as he gathered his thin patience. "Good people," he said and turned to them with a stiff frown gracing his angular features. "The garrison has, as of yet, not an official report to offer. For now, this is only speculation. A few moments ago, after Miss Haste came running to us, informing us Mr. Ridge was suspended from the beam in his office, we responded as quickly as we could. We found indeed the mentioned man hanging from a noose, no sign of life left in his body." The captain paused, knowing speculating wrongly over such a matter could have dire consequences, but he pushed on. "It is our initial belief that Mr. Ridge hung himself after having failed to perform successfully at the trial of Jacob and Billy Black."

Bella's brown eyes drifted to the lifeless body being taken away by the slow cart. She, and many others there present, could not believe their ears. But it dawned on her—a horrible realization that the young woman wanted nothing more than to run from—that it was not entirely impossible for Mr. Ridge to have taken his own life.

* * *

**A/N: Another chapter for you! Excuse my poor knowledge when it comes to the law. I did do some minor research on courtroom proceedings during the 18th and 19th century in Western Europe, but each country has very different proceedings. I mean, just France changes quite a lot from before and after the fall of the monarchy. Therefore, I suppose Angloa could have its own quirks as well.**

**I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, do not forget to R&R! :)**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	6. Chapter 6

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 6_

She did not remember how she got home. Nor did she remember falling asleep in a cloud of confusion. All Bella remembered was the body, so flimsily covered by the off-white cloth that she had seen part of Ridge's uncovered legs. He had been so dehumanized in her eyes. No longer was he the man who held such passion for the law and for justice. He was just another dead body by being treated in such a clinical way.

The day after his death, Captain Forster had come forth with more evidence. A note had been found, written in Ridge's hand—leaving no doubt that it had, in fact, been a suicide. Bella found it all so abrupt—that the man she had been speaking with one day, was to be gone the next.

Mr. Johnson had found the situation to be a complete fiasco. The judge who had wanted to establish that the law worked for all, was left to run with his tail between his legs, hoping that the downfall of the lawyer would not haunt him for the rest of his career.

Sour days followed the departure of Mr. Johnson and the death of Mr. Ridge. They were days where Bella was mostly inside. She had no mind for listening to the unsavory gossip that so freely floated around everywhere. So many people said that they "had seen it coming", saying Mr. Ridge "was of a weak mind". She could not keep her mouth shut and had defended the poor man whenever possible. Charles Swan had, in the end, forbidden her to speak any of it.

Carlisle Masen had stared at the same defeat. The baron who had been so keen on helping Bella Swan drifted away and did not speak much to anyone in his household. He seemed crushed much like young Miss Swan had been.

Jacob Black had returned from weeks in prison, finding the world he returned to, to be completely changed. He had grown bitter toward most and kept away from them all. Whenever he was seen on the streets, tongues started wagging, but the gossip was not malicious. Jacob and his father represented those who had stood up for themselves—stood up for their beliefs—and lost. Even if the town admired their folly, their actions were still seen as unnecessary. Now the people knew what not to do in the future. Whatever spirit of change might have graced Hayes before, it had been completely wiped away now. Captain Forster could not be more delighted at the prospect. While he before had fought hard to defend the taxation, he had now risen the taxes further without as much as a murmur stirring.

But there was one thing left for the proud captain to do. His honor had been insulted—his word had been questioned. And Billy Black would pay, one way or another. For Forster, it was not enough to lock up the man—even if he would spend the next few years rotting away in some far-off prison cell. Forster required more than that.

He thirsted for blood.

Johnson, having run away without ever seeing to it that Billy Black was correctly moved to the maximum-security prison outside of Safeira, would find out about Forster's plans too late. And when he did, the captain suspected he would do little about it.

Two days after the release of Jacob Black and death of Lucas Ridge, Forster had started, once more, to build the gallows. This time, he had done it in the square for all to see. The message was clear: the one who defied the word of the captain would meet a deathly end. Bella heard of the execution from Lorraine and Sara one afternoon as she sat in the kitchens, playing with a stray doughball while the cook oversaw the baking.

"He is not even ashamed to hide it!" the young woman said as she squinted her eyes. "And we all know who those gallows are meant for." Lorraine gritted her teeth.

"Judge Johnson sentenced Mr. Black to prison. I do not believe Captain Forster would have the nerve to go against a ruling."

Dory scoffed as she kept rolling the dough into a thin sheet. "That man got away from this godforsaken town as quickly as he could. He will not raise a finger in Black's defense now."

"But that cannot be true, Dory. Mr. Ridge could not have taken his life for this!"

"This is _why _he took his life, because everything he believed in was proven a farce," the cook responded back. Bella remembered one of the maids had given her a copy of the letter written by Lucas Ridge.

_I write in haste for I cannot bear it any longer. I threw it all away, I failed myself. What I believed in does not exist in this kingdom and it crushes me. I cannot live in such a world. I hope your judgment will not be too harsh on me. I hope those who knew me will understand._

_L.R_

Still thinking of it now made her shiver where she sat. Bella picked at a loose thread from her auburn robe, scratching her head, trying to forget those impactful words.

"It is sad to think that a man with such strong ideals would have given up on them so easily," she whispered to herself.

"You would be surprised at how common it is." Dory frowned, a remembrance from her own past seemed to have made way into her mind. The aging woman stared at a young Bella. "Do not let this crush you, Miss Swan. This will all be an estranged memory, you will see," the cook lied. She had no wish to see the girl so utterly crushed. Bella had taken the death of Lucas Ridge hard, as well as many of those who knew him. "Friar Blackwood has had him buried close to the cemetery. He may not be able to bury Mr. Ridge on holy ground, but he has lain him to rest as close to the church and its cemetery as possible."

Bella squeezed the dough ball. Poor Mr. Ridge.

"And no one is willing to speak out for Billy Black," she muttered.

She knew what she had to do. Billy Black would not have his life much longer. It was either being a dead man or a fugitive.

Bella left the kitchen, determined to right all wrongs, despite herself. She called for the small carriage that took her to the merchant corner of town. The streets were quieter around the Black home than usual. The windows were barred so that no unwanted eyes might look in.

She straightened out her auburn gown, brushing away some flour that had gotten on her left arm when she'd been helping Dory bake. Bella knocked forcefully on the door, her heartbeat rising as she heard steps closing in.

"We do not want any visitors, go away!" the voice said, irritated. She glanced behind her nervously as curious onlookers stopped by, wondering if they would get a glimpse of the family.

"It is me, Jacob, Bella Swan," she croaked, clearing her voice to hide her nervousness.

The door glinted open a sliver as Jacob looked out. "You should go, Bella. Nothing good will come from associating with a man like me."

"Please, Jacob. Let me speak with you," she pleaded, stranded on the doorstep like a mere street dog. Jacob took pity on her and let her in.

"My aunt has run away to Safeira, struck down by grief," he whispered as they passed the stairs.

The house was in mayhem. Trinkets and clothes were haplessly strewn everywhere, as if the inhabitants of the space had no mind to pick them up. The messy state of the small apartments showed the mindset of the family. "My cousin is upstairs packing some things and will go with his mother. He has asked me to go with him," he trailed off. She suspected they would not be interrupted. She could hear footsteps as the cousin upstairs walked around.

"I came to offer my condolences," Bella said as he led her to the small sitting room.

"Thank you," he muttered, allowing her to sit in the finest chair they owned.

Jacob sat down next to her and stared at the filthy floor, the wooden boards readied with dirt and stains of food they had dropped during the time they had spent in that house. In the corner lay some broken china he had thrown when having heard the news of his father.

Jacob looked a broken man. He looked as if he had no hope left in the world.

The old grandfather clock ticked away in the background as the embers in the fireplace shifted. Some semblance of what had once been toast was now as black as night in the ashes.

"Are you really leaving, then?" she asked timidly. There were signs of closing the house down. Their household echoed what the Black family was now; a jumble, a mess.

"No, I am getting my father before he—" Jacob could not bring himself to utter the devastating words.

"Well, why do you not search for the man who helped him escape the first time?" the young woman asked with a semblance of hope in her eyes. "And then you place Mr. Black on a ship to your old homeland?"

Jacob's lips turned into a thin line as he placed his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. He had taken off his coat and rolled up the sleeves of the off-white shirt. Jacob's long hair was out of its usual low ponytail and fell into his face as he stared up at her from between the tresses.

"That is the first person I would have gone to if I knew where to find him."

"Surely your father must have told you something about him?"

"He never even saw his face, Miss Swan. He said he was just another shadow in the dark."

She frowned. "This person that helped your father, I am certain he will have heard of his predicament once more."

"I cannot sit around and wait for someone to _maybe_ come to my father's rescue."

"So what? You rescue him yourself? Don't be foolish, Jacob."

"I will do all I can to free my father."

Bella took his hands in hers, a forward gesture that made her blush slightly. "Let us find this man who rescued your father, let us find a way around this. The law failed Billy Black… Mr. Ridge thought as much. But we will not fail him."

Jacob could not help as a smile escaped him. "Oh, so it's 'we' now?"

"I dragged many parties into this, I will end it as well," she said, determined.

"You can be quite resolute, Bella," he chuckled, the compliment making her blush turn a shade deeper.

* * *

Lucy frowned at the text placed in the main square on the wooden board. The notice board was usually avoided. But, these days, the townspeople flocked to it as a source of excitement, gossip or dread.

The announcement this time was made by none other than Forster himself. She spat to the side, reading the words once more, wrinkling her nose.

"Seems Forster's out to capture the man who saved Billy Black," she muttered as the onlookers who could not read stared cluelessly at the intangible words.

"Wha' does it say, Lucy?" one of the younger boys asked.

"It is the time n' place for Black's execution, my boy!" the hearty woman exclaimed. "Tomorrow at noon they're hangin' him like some animal," she spat again. The boy's face whitened.

"This 'ere is a trap!" one of the farmers who would venture into Hayes exclaimed as he heard what the notice said. "A damned trap!"

"Who for?" another one of the townspeople asked.

"For the chap who helped Mr. Black the first time. And best believe it ain't his son, they will be keeping a close eye on 'im tomorrow. Ya can be sure of that," the man said.

The small crowd started mumbling amongst themselves as Lucy left them to get back to her tavern. She could sense the change hitting Hayes. For things were indeed about to change, but she did still not know if they were for better or for worse. She entered her tavern and saw the same usual drunk looming over a few mugs of beer, stinking foul of the liquid.

She sighed but did not blame the man as he sat in his corner, the very picture of someone having given up on life. Lucy had been in a very similar situation after her husband's death. Bella had been one of the few people who had made her push forward.

The day progressed and a tension unlike anything they had ever felt before now claimed Hayes. The suffocating blanket of awaiting a tumult took its root in the otherwise sunny and joyous village. The presence of oppression had never been given much thought here—they were far removed from the crown and the government. Cadherra was more closed off than other provinces, and her citizens enjoyed that; or they were told to enjoy it.

The news of Billy's execution had finally spread like wildfire. And the following day, by late afternoon, it was what all spoke of.

Jacob had been taken to the garrison for the captain to keep an eye on him. His reasoning was as idiotic as a small child's and could cost Jacob his freedom once more. If the mysterious man who'd saved Billy did not come for him again, they would conclude that it had always been Jacob beneath the disguise.

It left the townspeople wishing harder for the mysterious savior to come for Billy once more. After supper, Bella had feigned fatigue and been allowed to go to bed. But, instead of heading to her room, accompanied by Lorraine, she had dragged the maid with her to the attic and to the tower. They had an excellent view of the main square from there.

Night descended quickly, and both sat there, wrapped in blankets, freezing as the winds tore at them from where they sat.

"Are you certain we will see anything from here?" Lorraine asked, wondering if she would get into much trouble if the owner of the house happened to catch them there.

"Lorraine, can you keep a secret?" Bella asked, not removing her eyes from the square, afraid she would miss a single thing of the spectacle that was to unfold. She, like everyone else, was curious as to how Billy would be rescued from his demise.

"I swear it," Lorraine answered, genuinely eager to hear what the young woman had to say.

"I saw him the night he rescued Mr. Black the first time."

Lorraine's mouth opened slightly as her eyes lit up. "You did?"

"Only an instance and from very far. But I saw him, mounted on a horse as black as a raven's wing, just another shadow, riding as fast as the wind. It was so bizarre," she whispered. Her skin prickled at the memory, as if she had seen an apparition of sorts—as if she had beheld something she shouldn't have.

Lorraine remained silent when she saw Bella's reaction to such memories. She was now even keener to see just what man this was to have saved Billy.

They waited patiently, their bellies full of food. It did not take long until they succumbed to real fatigue, ignoring the frisky wind and chill of the night. The sun had long since lowered in the sky, and the colorful houses and dark rooftops were only illuminated by the stars. Some lights in the windows illuminated the streets in yellow as the wax candles flickered, almost eerily in their strange dance.

Bella had long since shut her eyes when, somewhere in the distance of her mind, she was brought back to lucidity. She forced her eyes open. Lorraine, it seemed, had long since left—perhaps to get another blanket.

Her eyes searched the main square, only finding it to be completely enveloped in darkness. All light in the surrounding windows had been extinguished. Any streetlights that had been lit were gone as well. It was a strange black hole where now shouts emerged.

Bella thought them triumphant shouts at first. Had the lancers managed to capture their pesky intruder? She held her breath while staring, squinting her eyes, trying to discern the figures in the darkness.

Suddenly, she saw a shadow outlined against the brick wall, casting itself over as more figures followed. Her heartbeat increased as the shouts of triumph turned into shouts of anger and even fear. She understood, then, that the man must have once more done the impossible—having escaped the closely guarded garrison with Black in tow.

"You idiot!" Captain Forster's voice sounded as the ultimate insult. Bella could only guess that it was directed at a particularly fat and rotund sergeant. "Go after them, do not let them escape!" She directed her gaze to the main entrance of the town, finding, to her dismay that it was guarded by more lancers.

But the shadows never went there. Instead, she saw them leave by the south entrance. The young woman had to turn and saw them leave, illuminated by starlight as they rounded the town, disappearing once more into the depths of Raven's Grove.

When Lorraine returned, carrying two extra blankets, she could see in Bella's eyes that she had missed the whole thing.

While walking back to her room, Bella gave the young maid such a detailed description of the events that Lorraine could practically place herself there.

But she was still disappointed at not having seen it with her own eyes.

Night soon gave way to day and tongues wagged—as they usually did in Hayes—about the previous night's events.

Jacob Black had been freed as it was clear that he wasn't, and never had been, the mysterious man that rescued his father. Forster also had no other means to keep him locked in as bait—the ruling had rendered Jacob safe, for now.

Bella wasted little time in sneaking out of her house to ride April to the main square. She threw on her green riding habit and urged the mare to move as fast as possible to the front of the garrison. Bella wanted to see the defeat on Captain Forster's face herself as he explained himself.

The road to the main square was void of people. All had either gone to work or stayed inside, afraid of any repercussion the angered captain might take against them.

But some brave souls had ventured outside. Bella braved on, hoping the captain might not unleash his anger against her personally as she reached the main square.

The shouts were audible even before seeing the garrison. Captain Forster had a set of lungs unequal to anything she'd ever heard before. His screams must have been heard through the city as he went on insulting his soldiers from behind the closed doors.

She pressed on as she found the square otherwise empty. The young woman returned, but not before reaching the old square of the city.

A group of people had gathered in the far end of the plaza, close to the statue of General Cullen, the crowd trying to make someone within the group talk.

Bella dismounted April and neared them. "What is all this fuss and commotion about?" she asked as she spotted Lucy amongst the group. She had left her tavern after having seen the people pass by the windows in a rush.

"Mr. Simmons has been sittin' like this for the better part of the mornin'. I sent Joe to fetch some spirits for him."

Bella looked at the old man, the same man always sitting by the statue, under the tree, playing chess. He was the best gossiper in town, somehow knowing everything about everyone.

"He looks as if he's seen a ghost," she remarked, taking note of the paleness in his face.

"A ghost!" the man suddenly exclaimed, jumping in place as pearls of sweat rolled down his temples. The shadow stretched over his thin features as his white hair swayed with his motion. The man trembled, his empty eyes searched fervently in the air, trying to get ahold of something. A look of horror and excitement glazed his orbs as he regained composure.

"What happened, Mr. Simmons?" asked a young woman, carrying a basket of wooden coils on her hip.

"Last night, I saw it—" the old man mumbled to himself, still looking past them all with horror and something else present in his gray eyes.

"Ya were by the garrison yesterday?" Lucy demanded in harsh tones. "Now, why on earth did ya do such a stupid thing, Simmons? They coulda got ya in the crossfire they coulda," she chastised, the accent harsher when she got angrier. But while Lucy worried more for the old man's well-being, the other townspeople quickly pressed for more information.

"Did ya see who saved old Mr. Black?" one of them asked as he leaned in. Bella widened her eyes in anticipation, waiting for the answer given.

Mr. Simmons turned to the young man. "As clearly as I be seein' ya now, lad," he whispered. "As clear as day did I see him."

"Well, do not leave us in suspense!" an apprentice of the smith exclaimed. "What did he look like?"

"They say he is nothin' more than a shadow."

A shaky finger rose in the gentle breeze of summer, the emerald leaves of the tree shifted with the sigh of the wind. They all turned by the force of Simmons' gesture, following where it pointed. Many jaws fell ajar as he stopped on the object.

There was no mistaking it. Simmons pointed at one thing: the statue of General Cullen. The man, whose face was entirely obscured by a mask, loomed over them, the statue casting a grand shadow over the small group as the indiscernible eyes regarded them in stoic silence.

Bella's stomach dropped, her breath left her lungs with a stifled gasp and her skin prickled. She wanted to believe it was the mere ramblings of an old man. She had only seen a shadow, but a shadow nonetheless.

"Quit foolin' around," one of them sneered. "Yer scarin' the girls," the man snickered. "Come now, what did he look like?"

But Simmons just kept pointing at the statue. "I saw him as clear as I see ya now, lad. I ain't lyin' to ya. A horse distracted the lancers while I spotted a shadow creep up o'er the wall. They did not notice him even once. The only thing the lancers ever saw was that Billy was missin'. But I saw 'im, I saw what did not wish to be seen: a man in black, no face, no eyes—just a shadow as eerily alike as tha' statue," he gulped.

"The ramblings of an old man, I tell ya!" another one snickered and received a few stifled laughs. They left Simmons there. But Bella and Lucy stayed behind.

"And his horse was as black as night, is that true Mr. Simmons?" she whispered, afraid her voice would break. Her face had paled.

"How'd ya know?" he asked, for the first time breaking that intense stare at the statue, meeting her flickering eyes head-on."

"I know for I saw it last night, as well as the first night he saved Mr. Black."

"And it will be somethin' ya best shut up about, missy. If that Forster catches wind about ya knowin' any of this, he will bring ya in for questionin'!"

Bella shivered.

"This can only mean one thing." Another gust of wind brought the loose dirt of the old square up, swirling around them as the leaves rustled like music once more. A faint waft of flowers invaded their nostrils. "Cullen has risen from the grave. He has come to fight for the people of Hayes once more!" Simmons said with a twinkle in his eyes.

* * *

"I, for one, refuse to believe such rampant news," Charles said pacing back and forth by the window, eagerly awaiting something. The Persian carpet braved on, a miracle it had not yet received a hole from his insistent shoes.

Bella kept her mouth shut while sipping her juice from the crystal glass. Her mother asked no questions, but she had seen her daughter sneak out the previous morning, coming back with a most befuddled look on her face.

The whole of Hayes was afire with the rumor. "Gah, one day after another there is something new. All we needed to know is that Billy Black managed to evade the soldiers once more." Charles stared out the window in wonderment. "One might think Hayes is turning into a circus!"

"Well, dear, there are very few who manage to escape from the garrison one time, not to talk of two!" Renée added innocently. The genteel woman did not show it openly, but the tales that had emerged in Hayes recently had quite stirred her normal and mundane life. Hayes was quickly transforming from an average sleepy town to an adventurous place, now even frequented by fine folks from the capital.

Renée smoothed out the brown lock over her shoulder, pushing them back as her husband threw her a sideways glance, his mustache ruffled. She rose an eyebrow in response and smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles in her lavender muslin gown. She adjusted the modest white shawl around her bosom of the square neckline.

A carriage pulled up in front of their house and Charles jumped in place. "They're here!" he exclaimed. "Now," he turned to his daughter. "Remember to be on your best behavior!"

"How could I forget, father, with you constantly reminding me," his daughter echoed. Bella's mother fixed the small lace around her rounded neckline, making sure the dress she wore looked as flattering as it could. Her mother had forced her to wear a robe redingote of silk and cotton satin in plain weave in mint and dark green. The layer underneath peeked out, in pure white. It had taken Sara hours to prepare her gown, making Bella mindful not dirtying the dress or even wrinkling it.

Amidst all the tumult, Alice Hale had decided it would be a perfect event to go to Raven's Grove. Bella suspected the young woman had a wish to flee from the gossip of a small town.

She had been right. Mrs. Hale had not even stepped a foot inside the house before urging that they flee to the woods. They were alone as Jasper had to apparently receive someone in Coldwick. But Alice would not tell who.

They rode an exquisite vis-à-vis carriage with black detailing and maroon leather cushioning. It was a perfect day for it. The sun shone brightly. Alice had brought two parasols with her so that they might shield themselves.

Bella never minded receiving some sunshine. It always made her feel better. But the sought-after complexion was as fair as was possible. Luckily, she was naturally pale and did not have to worry too much about getting a tan.

"Miss Swan, the happenings in this town have my whole household positively up in arms. I have never seen my father so concerned. Who would have thought that the soldiers here would be more brutish than the rest of the country?"

"You mean to tell me they are the same in Safeira?" Bella asked.

"They are much worse here, because we are in the middle of nowhere," Alice stated. "Coldwick is the closest city, a good half day's ride with a fast horse. But Captain Forster is a nasty fellow. I am sad to see that Judge Johnson could not do anything about him."

Bella lowered her gaze. "He disappointed us all, Mrs. Hale." The driver urged the two white horses into a slower trot as they entered the woods, the green crowns enveloping them as the roof let through the faint sunbeams.

"I am sorry to hear about what happened to Mr. Ridge," Alice offered with utmost sincerity. She pushed a raven lock out of her eyes as she put away the white parasol. "I heard you were a good friend to him."

"Mr. Ridge was a good friend to all who knew him. He formed an important part of this community. I am sorry to see someone burn so passionately for something, only to have it disappoint them to such levels."

"The law failed Mr. Black, not Mr. Ridge," Alice reminded Bella.

"You really think so?" Bella asked. Once she remembered herself, she blushed. "I am terribly sorry, Mrs. Hale. This was to be a carefree promenade and I have ruined with my personal problems."

But Alice Hale shook her head, taking Bella's hands in her own. The presence of the woman before her surrounded and calmed her. Bella had never had any siblings, but Alice's calming smile almost made her feel what it would be like to have one. "What happened to Mr. Ridge was tragic, but you cannot do anything about it now, Miss Swan."

"How did you know I felt so guilty about it?" Bella asked in wonderment as the leaves sang and the birds chirped.

"Well," Alice smiled. "Because since arriving here you are the kindest and most wholehearted person I have stumbled upon. You never gave up on Mr. Black when all the other young women kept babbling and gossiping. It was only warranted that the last days' happenings would weigh your mind down," the young woman before her said.

Alice was a good judge of character. But Bella had never realized how good. They had scarcely known each other for more than a few weeks and already both women knew that between them kindled a strong friendship. Bella's blush faded away as a smile spread on her lips. "I am honored to hear such kind words, Mrs. Hale."

"You are very welcome, Miss Swan. Now," Alice continued as the driver started taking them back to the town, for they seemed to have forgotten their promenade. The women noticed how the forest had changed to them then. There was no gloomy aura. The green roof smiling down at them was bright and clear. The distant light in between the trees was not the same dark blue that usually clung to Raven's Grove. The moss-covered ground reflected the yellow beams. "My husband is meeting up my brother Edward at the port of Coldwick."

"How wonderful, you must miss him very much!" Bella exclaimed, genuinely happy—but only for Alice's sake. She had no pretenses of ever getting beyond a friendly acquaintance with Edward Masen, despite what her father might think.

"I have not seen him in years. Mother hasn't talked about anything else," Alice smiled. "But I thought you might want to know before your father does." She stopped herself, it was Alice's turn to blush. "Forgive my outspokenness, Miss Swan, I meant nothing bad by what I said!"

"Ha!" Bella laughed. "You only spoke the truth, Mrs. Hale. My father is as insufferable as they come when it gets to a potential match for me," she blinked. "Thank you for warning me before he unleashes the full force of his intentions on me."

"I suggest you prepare, father is meeting us up when this ride is over to inform your father of just this. Shall we suspect a great deal?" Alice looked amused as she continued, but she had managed to drag Bella into it.

"I dare say a great deal, Mrs. Hale."

* * *

**A/N: Another chapter, enjoy! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 7_

The news of Edward's return reached Charles Swan that same day.

Mr. Swan waited a total of three hours before deciding that a small gathering should be held two nights hence.

The small gathering would only allow a handful of guests. The extended Masen family had already accepted their invitation. A few others had been invited, but all declined at the last hour. Bella did not wonder if her father had made them decline. Therefore, the only people left were her family and the Masens.

The eventful night of the gathering arrived. Charles Swan had spared no expense. Isabella Swan had gotten her finest gown fitted. It was a robe à l'anglaise in muted taffeta pink with fitted panels and a pearl-colored sash at her waist.

Their house had been intentionally decorated to fit the occasion. New wax candles had been placed in the holders and the rooms had been aired, only to be filled with the perfume of fresh flowers from the gardens.

As night eventually fell, their guests arrived. Bella had to admit to herself that she welcomed the normalcy of the evening. So many strange things had happened during the last few days that she needed something to break it up.

They awaited the Masens, Hales, and McCartys as they arrived in the respective carriages. The foyer had been cleaned spotless. As the head chamberlain of the household announced their presence, Renée turned to adjust her daughter's hair and brushed a stray lock from her face. "You look ravishing, dear," Mrs. Swan smiled down. Bella could not help a smile as the loving eyes of her mother gazed upon her. Even Charles smirked and nodded in agreement.

The footman announced the guests and Bella could hear them through the door. She stood nervously tapping her left foot on the checkerboard marble floor. She wanted the introductions over with so that she might get over her initial disappointment of meeting Alice's older brother. Bella had no wish to think ill of any of the Masens. But at this stage, she was so used to disappointment whenever a suitor was presented to her, that she held no expectations whatsoever.

She guessed there was a certain splendor in the air as the doors opened wide by elegant footmen. The Masens were welcomed in style. Carlisle stood with his wife, Esmeralda, in the fold of his arm.

"Mr. Swan, Mrs. Swan," Carlisle bowed as he forced a smile. He seemed…uncomfortable. It was as if he had just recollected himself from a rather unpleasant discussion.

Carlisle Masen was polished as ever, the long blond hair pulled into a low ponytail. He bore a redingote coat in brocade with beige breeches ending just under the knee. Esmeralda wore a dress in fine silk, the color befitting her name very much. She walked over to Bella and took her hands in her own in a familiar greeting. Alice soon joined them.

"You look lovely, Miss Swan!" her new friend exclaimed.

"As do you, Mrs. Hale," Bella blushed.

Alice looked as if she wanted to drag Bella to the side, almost to warn her about something. "Miss Swan, I really wish to speak with y—"

Rosalie stepped in, stealing all the attention with her breathtaking beauty and thus interrupting her sister. Her tall and broad-shouldered husband soon joined her.

But it was the man that entered behind them that stole Bella's full attention. Alice still tried to catch Bella's attention, alas it was too late.

Bella flared her nostrils at the sight before her. It was as if Beau Brummel himself had stepped into their quite modest little foyer. He might have been handsome if it were not for all the rather _excessive_ accessories.

Edward Masen was quite tall and lean—from what Bella could see. He had, unlike the other men in his entourage, cropped his copper hair short, styled in the growing French fashion. The man wore a white cravat so high up his neck it looked unbearably uncomfortable. Bella noted his head was slightly bent up, giving him an arrogant air as he stared down at them with his nose up in the ceiling. He wore a tailcoat of silk and cotton in plain weave with silk satin stripes coupled over two layered figured silk vest. The coat had quite a high collar, further impeding him from turning his head. The beige breeches contrasted against the dark-green and maroon gold of his coat.

It was evident that this man _lived_ to dress. Every inch of him was impeccable. Bella was not much for fashion, but even she could recognize the latest styles she'd seen in the pamphlets they would get from France or England. His face was powdered, and he was perfectly shaven. She even detected some rouge dusted on the apples of his cheeks.

Bella's nostrils flared further as her face started taking on a red hue and her lip trembled. "Miss Swan, a word," Alice murmured, dragging Bella to the side. And it was indeed in the nick of time. The moment they entered the adjoining room and Alice closed the door behind them, Bella burst into such forceful laughter that she thought her ribs would break.

Alice let her recover, the young woman drying her tears of amusement. "That was my initial reaction at seeing him as well," Alice muttered. "Dear lord, my brother returned quite different from when he left." The comment only provoked more laughter within Bella until her father stormed into the room.

"We can hear your little chuckles of amusement, child! You will calm yourself or I shall be forced to send you to your room!" he hissed at her until he noticed Alice standing next to them, placing a hand over her mouth, stifling a small chuckle herself.

"Pardon me, Mrs. Hale, I had no idea you were here," Charles bowed, quickly leaving both women in a state of unrest. "Control yourself and get out here again. You haven't even been properly introduced!" he hissed by the door before disappearing into the foyer again.

Bella dried her tears once more and took deep breaths. "You could have warned me, Mrs. Hale," she sighed as the laughter died down.

"I tried to, but my brother entered so fast that I never got the chance," Alice admitted. "Father spent half an hour trying to make him change the cravat. He looks idiotic with his nose up in the air like that all the time. And the hair!" Alice exclaimed. "_À la Brutus_," she mimicked her brother. "That is what he called it."

Bella could not help the amused smirk curling on her lips. "It would not be so bad if it were not for the fact that he has gone through the trouble of adjusting the curls to lie so perfectly against his temples," she said. Indeed, Edward Masen had adjusted _each and every one_ of the curls with some sort of wax to lay plastered against his forehead. The result was quite appalling.

"Wait until he starts talking," Alice muttered. It was clear to anyone with a pair of eyes that she was less than impressed with her brother.

"Fear not, Mrs. Hale, I shall not think less of you no matter what your brother says," Bella encouraged. She knew too well how it was to have an irritating family member.

"Then let us face the beast," Mrs. Hale said, taking Bella's arm in her own. They braved on and walked back into the foyer, Bella fighting hard as another laughing fit started creeping up on her.

"Miss Swan," Esmeralda started as she saw the young woman near them. "Allow me the honor of introducing you to my son, Edward," Esmeralda said as she guided her to stand directly in front of the man of the hour.

Bella did what she usually would do. She curtsied deeply and gave him her hand to kiss. He bent over it in a rather stiff bow, the arrogance never once leaving his face. "Charmed," he said with a rather thin and nasal voice with the hinting of a slight British accent.

"Indeed, Mr. Masen," she echoed just as coldly.

They were led to the drawing room where they would pass some time before moving on for supper. Edward had been strategically placed next to Bella and the rest of the family had, much to her dismay, moved away from them.

They sat in awkward silence until Edward spoke. And the more he spoke, the more she wished he would keep quiet. "I suppose I am to make some sort of conversation with you now, Miss Swan," he said rather nonchalantly. Bella had never seen anyone so bored. When a stifled yawn emerged, and he did little to hide it, she could not help but raise an eyebrow.

"I shall not think less of you if you refrain from such an action, sir," she answered stiffly, turning away from him where she sat. They had been placed on the same couch and each sipped their respective glass of port.

"I, of course, find to have a mere conversation for just having it to be a complete waste of effort and energy," he drawled on, ignoring anything she had previously said.

"Indeed?"

Edward kept looking away from her as if she weren't even there. Bella had yet to determine if he was extremely oblivious or just purposefully rude.

"The art of conversation is something I pride myself with being exceedingly good at," he continued, finally turning slightly to her, as if acknowledging her existence. Edward Masen sat stiff and reluctant in that sofa, and the way his body language screamed arrogance did not go unnoticed by the young woman.

"I never knew conversation was viewed as an art form."

"Oh, but it is the purest art form, madam. Conversation can never flow freely if those involved do not know how to use it to their advantage. It is not just a simple _savoir-faire_," he said, mimicking a French accent as he spoke the nasal tones. Bella forgot herself and wrinkled her nose at the expression.

"Then forgive me good sir, but I have never been trained in any conversational artform and I have gotten by just fine in life."

Edward finally turned to meet her. Bella was shocked by how intense his eyes could be. But it was just a flicker of a moment. Maybe they had never been so deeply regarding her before. The emerald orbs were as dull as a cloudy autumn day and he sipped his wine, the very effort seemingly tiering him.

"I forgot that not everyone does things the right way," he drawled lazily, each tone more prolonged than the other—if that was even possible.

Bella's eyebrows might have shot up to her hairline if it weren't for the fact that she found his whole countenance immensely entertaining. So, she did the only thing she could think of—she played along with him.

"Well, Mr. Masen, enlighten me, if you would," she smirked as an eyebrow arched slightly.

"You mean to tell me your governess never instructed you in these matters?"

"I never had a governess," she cut him off, wondering what his reaction would be. A sharp intake of breath followed with some low muttering that she could not make out.

"I will not waste the rest of my evening trying to inform you in the basics of formal etiquette," he muttered.

"We all did not have the _fortune_ of attending a prestigious university in England." Instead of taking it as an insult, Edward smirked, thinking her remark a compliment.

"Of course not, only the best do. And me being within that category must be befitting of the title, my dear." He sighed again, almost as if giving up on the whole situation. "I guess I might as well extend some of my kindness to you. My youngest sister seems to have gained some form of affection for you, and I will not insult her by ignoring your own ignorance."

Bella played dumb, not letting his little comment wipe her smile off her face. "I am in your debt, sir," she said, grabbing for her fan and fanning herself. Bella allowed it to hide her disgusted expression, wishing the night would end quickly. She hoped she would never have to see that poor excuse for a man again. But, since he was moving to Hayes, Bella feared she might not be so lucky.

As fate would have it, the night went on excruciatingly slow. They were seated together at supper. Every move she made for either grabbing her utensils or her wine caused a stifled snicker from his part. Edward would then and again offer some rude comment about the whole set-up for dinner. It did not take long until Charles was blushing in embarrassment. But he was not the only one, Carlisle had taken on a red hue in his face as well. He looked about ready to chastise his son when Esmeralda managed to whisk Edward away from the table. Bella would have given anything to hear the argument playing out between the two—to see how the arrogant and lazy son of the Masens stood and listened to his mother's banters with an indifferent air.

The night did not progress as Charles would have wanted it to. Bella came to realize that—as time moved on—she liked Edward Masen less and less by the minute. From the way he spoke to her and to the way he treated the maids of their households, he was nothing but a foolish dandy and a complete fop.

When supper was over, Charles gave the family no offer to stay on and the Masens soon moved for their carriage. The fiasco of the night ended with Edward Masen reaching for Bella's hand, only tripping on his way to kiss it, stumbling clumsily before them all. It was confirmed that the fop did not only lack any basic human compassion, but he did not have any natural grace as he walked awkwardly to his carriage, carrying himself clumsily after almost falling face first in front of them.

"The way he behaves might be all the rage at the British court, but it has no place here. Carlisle Masen should have a stern talking to that boy. It is rudeness I have never seen before!" Renée exclaimed as the carriages left their courtyard in front of their house.

Charles was dismayed as well. He had expected someone else. "I had foreseen something a bit… well a bit _more_." He turned to Bella. "But both Mr. and Mrs. Masen are quite taken with you, Bella."

"Father dear, look at me—your only daughter—and tell me honestly that you could ever accept having such an excuse for a man as your son in law. I dare you," his daughter sneered.

Charles opened his mouth as if starting to speak, but soon stopped himself. Even _he_ could not utter the words. "I think young Mr. Masen might be too fine a gentleman for common people like us," he winked at his daughter.

"Thank you, papa," Bella said, finally breathing out. She relished in the fact that there was no pressure put on her to engage that foppish young man. "Perhaps someone like Jessica Stanley would suit him better," she added. The remark made both her parents burst out into laughter as they returned inside their house.

* * *

The weeks drifted by and little happened otherwise in the sleepy town. The townspeople settled back into their previous rhythm. It was as if nothing had ever happened there, as if the whole incident with the Black family had never taken place.

June passed along into July and the warm days grew long, and the nights never saw complete darkness. They were brief and before the citizens knew it, the sun was up in the sky and another day commenced.

Bella enjoyed such lazy days. She and Alice would take the vis-à-vis carriage to Raven's Grove with Jasper accompanying them at times. They would stop by a small lake and have picknicks. Edward Masen never bothered them and never insisted on following with.

Whenever Bella stopped by the Masen's elaborate house, she could not avoid perceiving the subdued tension within it. Carlisle Masen was disappointed by his son, it was inescapable not to notice. Whenever Edward offered any type of comment regarding his time in Oxford, the father would sigh.

Carlisle identified more as a man of action. It was not unusual to see him fencing with his son-in-law Emmett McCarty or his fencing master in the gardens. Edward would go nowhere near the blade, saying sword fighting belonged in the days of old and that he had no need to defend himself.

Alice, though not wishing to truly accept it, was also embarrassed by her brother. It seemed Rosalie was the only one who could handle him. Jessica Stanley was quite taken by the young baron to be. Bella did not know if it was due to Edward's inheritance, his title or his knowledge and familiarity with the metropolis life in London—which he never failed to mention he'd frequented often.

Bella had been forced to attend yet another one of Miss Stanley's gatherings. She wrinkled her nose at the tea as Edward sat surrounded by women in frilly dresses, heavy perfume raining down on them and fans fervently moving as the summer heat crept in through the tall open windows.

Alice sat by her side. "A pompous peacock is what he can be at times," she muttered to herself as she sipped the bitter brew. Edward kept on speaking of the merchant quarters in London and Safeira. He would tell of the finest shops and parlors to visit and the young women would sigh in anticipation. Bella took to regarding him as he sat with the same starched and high cravat, his nose ever up in the air and his face powdered too white.

"But how bored you must be here, Mr. Masen. It is such a sleepy little town," Jessica cooed as she moved closer to him on the beige couch. The excess of perfume and pastel colors had added to Bella's growing headache.

"I find it quite simple, at times. But then again, the countryside is _très à la mode_ these days. Returning to the city now would be a show of weakness to my other friends. Anyone of importance is in the country during the summers. I only find the city tolerable during the start of the season—during winter, that is," he smirked as he directed his speech to Bella. Edward had seen it fit to do so at times, whenever he thought she would not understand what it was he spoke of.

"I am well acquainted with the seasons, Mr. Masen."

"Have you ever journeyed to the capital during winter?" he asked condescendingly. Every year, around winter, the richer people of the country villages would travel to either Wessport in the north, or to Safeira, in the west, as it was the period when balls and dances were hosted. It was also the time for young women to make their debut into society. Bella had never done such a thing because her family was not well connected enough to be invited.

"No, Mr. Masen, my family has stayed in Hayes."

"I have only gone to Wessport, Mr. Masen," Jessica interrupted, wanting to catch Edward's attention. "But I understand, of course, that it is nothing compared to Safeira," she quickly added as he raised an eyebrow, rather unimpressed.

"Quite," he drawled, sipping the last of the wine in his glass. He turned his attention to Bella once more. "And what do you _do_ here if you do not go to the city?" he asked. Bella was waiting for another insult. But he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say.

"The details would only bore you, Mr. Masen," she answered.

"I insist," he added, leaning forward slightly. The thin nasal tone scratched at her ears and her head grew a pulse of its own as her headache increased.

"She does not wish to speak of it, brother. And I am not surprised, as you would only insult her further," Alice chimed in, growing ever irritated. "For that is what you always do, you can only insult people." It was evident that the sister was growing ever more tired of her brother. She did little to hide it.

Edward's mouth turned into a sour frown. "I only speak the truth, sister. I will not tell lies to simply flatter, dear. I pride myself in my honesty," he said, pushing out his chest.

"Dear Lord," Bella muttered under her breath.

"Let us be off, Bella. A headache has suddenly befallen me, and I find myself quite unwell," Alice hissed as the other young women looked on with wide eyes at the exchange of words.

"A bit of wine will soothe any ailment, Alice dear," her brother drawled on. "I suspect you were out in the woods far too long yesterday. Women of your stance and delicacy should stay inside more."

"It wasn't the woods that have made me ill," she insisted, getting up from the chair, taking Bella's arm in her hand. Bella looked back and forth between brother and sister. There was definitely something going on between the two.

"It might well be the company!" Alice huffed and turned to leave the peacocks alone. Bella made no move to stop her friend, happy to be out of there.

The last thing they heard before leaving the room was Edward's irritating drawl: "…she has been corrupted by the farmers and servants who rule this town," he said in a disgusted tone. The footmen closed the doors behind them. But Alice kept dragging her friend until they were sitting in the carriage.

"Pompous peacock!" she exclaimed as they were taken away from there.

"Mrs. Hale, calm yourself," Bella said. She moved to sit closer to the young woman and took her hand in hers as support.

"Forgive me, I overreacted." Alice cast her eyes to the ground in embarrassment. They continued their ride in uncomfortable silence. But, finally, Bella had enough and overstepped her boundaries by asking what should not be asked.

"Do you wish to speak about it?" She knew it was not polite to ask such a question. But Alice Hale looked so disheartened that Bella wanted to make sure she could get her worries off her chest.

A sad chuckle escaped her. "It isn't exactly a secret that my brother is unbearable to me, is it?"

"I think most of us find him annoying. But he is still your brother."

Alice squared her jaw and turned to stare at the neat stacks of colorful houses as they were driven back to the Masen house. "I just find him a completely different person. The Edward that left all those years ago is not the same who returned. We expected he would leave a boy and return a grown man. You can imagine our disappointment." Alice caught herself slipping and a blush crept up on her. "I still care for him, he is my brother!" she blurted out, ashamed of what she had said about him.

"Even if our relatives do strange things, we forgive them. I am certain that, deep down, your brother is still the same. He just needs time to adjust," Bella tried. But even she found that hard to believe.

"Father has taken his change the worst. Edward is his only son and heir, and he was so proud of him when he was younger. Can you believe Edward would jump and run all over the place? He loved fencing and playing clever tricks on us. He was quite the acrobat as well. I wondered what happened in England that changed him so." She stared far off into the distance, the question meant more for herself than for Bella.

"He grew up," came Bella's soft voice, breaking through the haze in which Alice found herself. Her lips thinned as that realization hit her. She did not want her brother to be that way.

"Perhaps, but he grew up into someone else. That is not the Edward I knew."

Bella had no idea what else she could have said. The rest of the journey was tense and muted. Alice apologized as she dropped the young woman off at her house. The carriage drove on and Bella contemplated it for a while. She had her difficulties with her family as well—her father could be quite unbearable at times. But it was not to the extent to which Edward had gone.

Bella sighed, going to the kitchen to hide from her parents. They would, no doubt, wonder why she was home so early. She found the kitchens busy as always, the maids chatting away and the chatter merging together into incoherent sentences. They all seemed rather shaken, for some strange reason.

"What did I miss?" Bella asked, trying to act cheerful after the incident at the Stanley's.

"What is there to miss? The excitement of Hayes has come and passed. We are back to our old and boring ways," a maid sighed as she kept working the dough on the countertop table.

"That is not entirely true," Dory said with a shadow on her face. "A notice has been circulating town. Lord Newton means to raise taxes again."

"What? The people cannot afford another taxation like the last! It is too early!"

"Tell it to that greedy little bastard," Dory muttered, sounding strangely alike Little Lucy.

"Do my parents know of this?"

"They should, all of Hayes should know of this soon. Lorraine was the one who brought the news. They've put up a notice in all the major squares of town."

Bella knew what this would mean, people would starve. It would not be too bad during the summer. But come fall and winter they would have no funds left for food and nature would be frozen. It would not be able to provide them with any sustenance.

What Forster and Newton were doing should be outright illegal. It was criminal to demand so much from the people. But, in accordance with the law, Lord Newton had every right to tax the people of his district—of course, a percentage of that went to the crown. It was a rather large percentage, but Newton would still get his fair share.

"With things as they are in Safeira, I doubt very much that we could say anything that would get the king's attention regarding this matter," she whispered to herself.

"You think the king will care what one of his lords does to us petty people? The coward has shut himself inside his palace and will not leave after what happened in France. It's the very lords themselves who govern Angloa. They do what they want—Newton belonging to that elite." Dory had put her hands on her hips, not able to keep her mouth shut for much longer. "My brother and sister in law work the land, they will be hit the hardest by this. It is not right that the more well off should treat us so poorly."

Bella could not agree more. But if the king would not listen to their problems, who would? She shook her head. She had never had a mind for politics or problems of such a scale. Either way, there was little she could do that would have a direct effect on the problem. The best thing was to keep her head down and do as the authorities said. Forster held an iron grip over Hayes, and she would not be the one getting in his way like Billy Black had. Her train of thought made her feel shame. But Bella was realistic, knowing well that stepping too far into the daydream might give her delusional thoughts that could never be accomplished.

As the summer day progressed, the poorer people of Hayes started worrying. Many searched through their houses, trying to find something of value that they might sell. It wasn't until the next day, around noon, that the Royal Guard came knocking on the doors, forcing the people to go to the garrison and pay their taxes.

Many showed up empty-handed. A few of the wealthier families of Hayes showed enough compassion to bail out the poorer farmers from the lower district of the town. But many did pay up—even though it left them without a nickel to their names.

When the hour for supper came, Hayes had been sucked dry of her nonexistent wealth. Many families went home to no food on their table that evening. Many mothers and fathers stared at their hungry children and wondered what they could do now. Would they starve for the rest of summer? And what of winter? The desperation growing within the poor households festered like a disease and many grew weary of the coming future.

It was a little after midnight, when the stars were high on the sky, that a lonely shadow made its way across the rooftops of the sleeping town. It treaded with sure footing on the slippery tiles with one goal in sight: the garrison.

Captain Forster had long since retired to bed, amusing himself with the happenings of the day. He could not believe that he had gotten away with feigning another tax collection in the name of Newton. That the unknowing lord should be away in the turmoil that played out in the capital, had given him an excellent window of opportunity to enrich himself. Forster had smirked as the citizens had dug deep into their pockets, getting together what scraps they had left. The sinister and diabolical smile had sent his lancers and soldiers walking the other direction whenever they saw him striding through the garrison later that day.

The garrison—the barracks—were impermeable multi-story blocks grouped in a quadrangle around a courtyard. It had been impossible to break in, until a month and a half ago, when Billy Black had first been saved.

The shadow took a different route this time, jumping through an arch of two joined houses and working its way to a window it was well familiar with. It fumbled with the opening until slipping in as silent as the breeze of the summer night's wind.

Sgt. Thompson enjoyed the freedom his new post brought him. He was allowed to move around with ease, even after the required bedtime hours. He had just come back from the kitchen while on duty for the night, thinking a late-night supper might be in order to last the rest of the wee morning hours.

The last of Dory's delicious meat pies had been consumed earlier that day and, so, he had to make do with some left-overs from supper and some watered-down ale. But Thompson didn't mind. He wiped his hand on the napkin as he devoured yet another spoonful of the cold and hearty stew. The smile on his face was akin to that of a young boy in a candy shop.

Perhaps that is why the point of a sword at his back caught him so unawares. Sgt. Thompson tensed up with a stale piece of bread still in his mouth. The large man started trembling, stretching his neck while trying to get a view of whoever was behind him.

"W-who goes there?" he asked, the piece of bread falling out of his mouth and into his lap. His usually deep and burly tone had jumped into falsetto.

"The man who will kill you if you do not follow my orders," a dark and ominous voice hissed in his ear. It was so close that he could feel the warmth of the intruder's breath hit his neck.

Sgt. Thompson swallowed harder than he should have. The loud gesture rumbled across the small of his quarters as he put his hands up.

"Very well, sir," he squealed.

"Where are the taxes?"

"What taxes?"

"The taxes from today!" The point of the sword embedded itself more forcefully into his back and Sgt. Thompson positively jumped where he sat.

"Ah, yes, _the taxes_," he said with a nervous chuckle, feeling quite jumbled. He had never been trained for such a confrontation. "They are in the tax room."

"_Tax room_?" the dark voice asked in disbelief. But before Sgt. Thompson could answer him with quite a drawn-out answer, he was cut off. "And where is this room?"

"By Captain Forster's personal quarters. It is on th—"

"Ah yes, I know where the captain's room is," the voice growled. When it spoke again, it held a hint of amusement to it, as if the person speaking was smiling. "You have been most helpful, sergeant. I thank you for your cooperation."

Thompson genuinely smiled widely at the compliment. "Why thank you!" This unknown stranger had been the first one in weeks to offer such nice words to him. But Thompson soon remembered himself, he was still held at sword point. He sat there, sweating profusely, waiting for the man to say something else. The chubby man did not dare turn around, afraid a pistol might accompany that sword. He kept his eyes firmly on the whitewashed wall before him. "I hope you do not mind, good sir, if I finished my late-night supper. A man like myself is in need of constant sustenance." When no answer came, he took that as a yes.

Thompson would have scratched his head if he could. The intruder was indeed a very pensive man, for he had spent the better part of ten minutes in complete silence.

What the fat sergeant didn't know, of course, was that it had been ten minutes since the shadow had positioned the sword in such a way that he could leave it—still pointing at the unknowing man's back. A wide grin had flashed a brilliant set of pearly whites before he left the same way he came. He slipped past several guards and found the "tax room" as the sergeant so eloquently had called it. An eyebrow arched as he saw the riches, so poorly guarded. The shadow guessed Forster had no fears that anyone would dare break into the military fortress and s_teal_ from him.

Aye, but he did not really steal. Technically, the shadow was just returning stolen money. He grinned as he gathered the trinkets and coins into some bags. Before leaving he wrote a quick note, happy with his handy work.

Before an hour had passed, he had silently slipped in and out, none the wiser that he had ever been there.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter and Edward's official introduction hehe. Thank you for the reviews to the previous chapter. The fic is now kind of established and we are finally getting more into the plot and the characters, so from here on there will be a bit more action and it will not be as slow ;)**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	8. Chapter 8

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 8_

When the citizens of Hayes awoke that bright morning, they were never prepared for the surprise they would find by their doorsteps. During the dark of the night, someone had meticulously placed what had been taken in taxes by their doors—the exact same amount each household had had to give up.

A note had been placed next to the money and items:

_The captain wishes to forgive the good people of Hayes for his selfish actions. He returns the stolen goods in-full._

_**Audeamus**_

Even Bella's household had gotten their spent taxes returned. They had been one of the richer families to pay for the poorer farmers inhabiting the town. She read the note again, her eyes tracing over the childish handwriting.

"My neighbors across the street got an exact same note," Lorraine said as she looked over Bella's shoulder. They sat in the kitchens, the maids all contemplating last night's occurrences.

As the sun had dawned, a mighty roar could be heard coming from the barracks. Captain Forster had woken up to chaos. The treasury—the room Sgt. Thompson always misnamed as the "tax room"—had been emptied. His riches had been s_tolen_. The records he'd kept had been taken as well. It did not take long for the furious captain to discover where his treasure had been taken. He had started assembling the guards to ride out and gather the people of Hayes.

But when he found a note in his own bedroom with the same childish handwriting, he stopped cold in his tracks.

_I wonder how Lord Newton or the department of finance in Safeira would react upon hearing of this treason from your part. I am certain Newton would overlook the first time. But be sure Safeira's wrath shall hit you with full force if you repeat yesterday's little trick._

It was not signed "Audeamus" like the others. Forster's heartbeat started increasing. How did this man know of his plan to tax the people of Hayes without Newton's consent? He had to sit down, allowing himself to think. He had to find this would-be Robin Hood before he got the support of the people.

Back at the Swan residence, tongues of the maids were still stirring. "Audeamus," one of the women said pale-faced. They all recognized the word well. The motto of General Edward Cullen whose statue graced the old square. The same Cullen who had fallen almost three hundred years ago in battle. And now someone was set on bringing that motto of daring courage back again.

Sara saw the Latin word plastered over her note. It was a word they had all grown up knowing; a word always present in their everyday.

"Let us dare," Bella said with a grave tone; the English equivalent. The words held a big impact and could be interpreted as only one thing. It was an open invitation for them all to question their local authority. "We should get rid of these notes. The guards might well take in anyone having this in their possession. It falls under having propaganda." And they all knew how that went for Billy Black.

"Whoever gave our money back has sent Forster a clear message," Dory smirked. "I hope that infernal man is ripping his hair out in frustration."

"But why hasn't he rounded us up and demand we pay taxes again?" another maid questioned.

"Who knows. But you are right to ask. Do not touch that money until you are certain he will not demand we give it back," Dory told them.

"There must be a reason," Bella pondered. She stared down at the note again. "I am positive Hayes will not fall back into that boring little town we've been so used to," she murmured.

"No, indeed."

It seemed a revolutionary had stopped by their town, ready to cause a ruckus at any moment's notice. She did not yet know if this was bad or good.

* * *

Mr. Simmons had been sitting by that statue both day and night, hoping to catch sight of that ghost once more. But, alas, he retained no such luck. It was therefore that the man felt it his duty to spread the word. Edward Cullen had risen from the grave—he had been the one to justly return the money to the overtaxed people.

The rumor was whispered from one ear to another. When people spoke of this man, a flame of hope stirred within the depths of their eyes. In every tavern, inn, kitchen and drawing room they spoke of nothing else.

But many wondered who this man really was. For if the more gullible of the townspeople did, in fact, think it a ghost, the more read and learned of them suspected it was one of their own. Many suggested it was some farmer's lad who had had enough with the local regime and decided to rise up against the soldiers.

But who could it be?

Charles Swan had looked at the note his household had received. Bella and Renée were positive he would mutter something with an indifferent air and throw away the note for fear that the soldiers would search his home as they had with Billy Black.

How wrong they had been.

"Remarkable," Charles breathed as he read the Latin word again. "We must make sure no one sees this note."

"You are not throwing it away, papa?" Bella asked in astonishment.

"Throw away? Are you foolish, child? This is a testament to the folly of the guards. I take pride in having this note. I hope we see more of this. Some feathers should have been ruffled long ago—I regret none of us dared move a finger. But times are changing," he said with a sparkle in his eyes. Bella rose an inquisitive eyebrow at her father's strange behavior.

"Papa, I never knew you cared so…" she trailed off.

Charles turned to face her. "We may be rich now and live well-off. But I was once one of them. And even though it is hard for me to admit that I was at times, it still hurts me to see how the people are abused by the soldiers. I have taken refuge in money when others couldn't. I offered no other solution. This type, whoever he is, has taken a rather unorthodox approach to, erm, _justice_."

Renée stared at her husband with pride and renewed ardor in her eyes. Bella could not help the twinge of guilt as confusion rose within her. "But you all are so quick to praise him. We know nothing of this person yet—only that he stole from the local government and broke out a prisoner…twice."

"And you disagree with his actions?" Renée bewilderingly asked her daughter. "You, if anyone, should stand by this man."

"I want to. But he is challenging the law. What happens if he goes further? We could have an outbreak of anarchy on our hands and none of us want that. I could well romanticize him as some dashing hero out to protect us. But the reality is much more complicated. This could make things worse."

"Things were already getting worse. The imprisonment of Billy Black showed that we had no right to speak out anymore. We may suffer through Captain Forster's wrath for now, but it will die down eventually, especially if the people realize the true power that they hold."

"But only if this man continues to be present."

The reasoning by the parents was as just as the ones made by the daughter. It was a complicated subject that made Bella's head spin. She wanted to believe in what Ridge had said—that the law was just. But if someone now haplessly came and fought outside of the law, then that person argued that law held no truth nor honor to it.

She shook her head, unable to make her mind up over the entirety of the situation. Bella found interest in listening to the other people whisper over the matter. Most reasoned like her parents. She had wandered to Little Lucy's inn and sat by the bar, enjoying a cup of spiced wine as the brutish woman cleaned the claret glasses with a wet rag.

"I tell ya, missy, we're in for some shit times, we are!" she said with a frown on her forehead.

"You also think things will get worse?" Bella was in awe that someone else in town would try to see things differently.

"Things always get worse before they get better, miss. I only hope the folks in this town can understand that. They praise this man now, see, but will they be praisin' him when Captain Forster thirsts for revenge?"

"Mr. Ridge would be rolling in his grave if he saw what was becoming of Hayes," Bella murmured as she pushed away a strand lock of her dark hair. The stale air within the room weighed heavy on her as noon progressed.

"Ya make it out like Hayes was much better before. That ain't the truth. Ya've only opened yer eyes now. Things have always been like this. Perhaps that is what this man wanted, for us all to open our eyes," Lucy said as she placed a hand on her wide hips and leaned over the counter. "But do not worry yerself with this, my sweet."

Bella sat by that bar for a bit longer, not knowing what else to say. She had no grounds for joining a discussion over such a matter when there was little to do. But she started to comprehend that this man, whoever he was, had after all managed to lift the spirits of the citizens. She only hoped the repercussions of his actions would not come crashing down like a storm over them all.

But it seemed like her fears were to come true. News of what had occurred in Hayes spread across the Cadherra province like wildfire. It soon reached the capital, Safeira. Tongues started wagging with the tale of a mysterious man who had, in an impossible feat, managed to free an unjustly accused prisoner and even managed to steal taxes from the local treasury and redistribute them amongst the people. Many found the tale an amusement, but the ones in charge saw the matter as rather problematic.

They sent a letter demanding that the captain of the garrison explained himself. Even Mayor Wilson was asked to inform more over the matter. He, of course, had little to add other than it was "taken care of".

Forster's answer, however, was wanting. Not even a week passed before a new set of soldiers had been dispatched to the area, led by none other than the charming Major Collins.

Major Collins was as dashing as they came. He had been away campaigning up in the north and even to some battles on the continent—from which he had gained his elevated status as a major. He returned with a few scars but more stories of valor than anyone could count. And even so, James Collins was a modest type. He did not brag, as so many of his peers would, and took on his charge with a level head—even such a lowly one as commanding the garrison of Hayes. But the men in charge in Safeira grew restless. And they wanted to snuff out this uneasiness in the little town as quickly as possible. They hoped the major would be able to do so.

The evening he arrived at the garrison, the townspeople of Hayes had gathered in curiosity to see who the new commander of the Royal Guard would be. They suspected a brute of a man with malicious intent, much like Captain Forster. But they had all been pleasantly surprised.

On the first day of his arrival, the decorated major had dismounted his calico steed and immediately started his inspection of the military building, accompanied none other than by the mayor who was most keen on getting to know the man.

Upon his inspection—wrinkling his nose at the poor conditions of the barracks—Collins even went through the trouble of seeing to the prisoners. Some were even freed upon the realization that their only crime had been that of a small protest: no basis for imprisonment.

Wilson had only watched in silent astonishment; his face grown ashen as he said Forster would not like it one bit. Collins had not given it a second thought, of course.

He had asked Captain Forster to come into his office that same evening and promptly started bashing on him. The insults were so loud that the soldiers on the courtyard could hear every colorful word the major threw Forster's way.

The townspeople took a collective breath upon realizing that the tyrannical days of Forster were well over. A few days passed along, and Hayes settled into her usual rhythm. The Stanleys had decided it was due time for a summer feast and had gone as far as inviting the decorated officer. Major Collins would be the first officer to attend a civilian ball in Hayes in years.

The Swans had been invited as well—of course. The Stanleys were always keen on remaining steadfast friends with the couple, even if their daughters could not say the same.

"We just had a gathering not too long ago," Bella complained as she was squeezed into her corset.

"A fortnight ago, which by the capital's standards is too long a time between anything. Count yourself lucky that the Stanleys have set this ball. Besides, it is a small gathering with only a few families attending," Sara said as she pulled at the laces.

"I hate gatherings."

"But Mrs. Hale will be there," the shy girl continued. "And she is your friend, right?"

"But where Mrs. Hale goes, her brother is not too far behind. Although, I must confess I find Edward Masen a most peculiar young man."

Sara could not help a snort escape her. But she soon remembered herself. "Forgive me, Miss Swan!"

"What for, that is my reaction whenever someone mentions his name," she chuckled. "I wonder what the pompous peacock will be wearing today and what philosophers he will quote next."

She usually saw him once a week when he would attend Jessica Stanley's tea gatherings. Edward Masen never failed to entertain those around him with his rather peculiar and foolish persona. But Alice always looked so dismayed at how her brother was that Bella always grew ashamed of her own negative feelings toward the popinjay. She knew that the man he had turned into hurt his family. Bella chastised herself whenever she made fun of him, remembering that he was still seen as a person by those close to him.

A few days prior to the small ball, Carlisle Masen had been seen practically screaming at his son in frustration. The proud baron could not believe what Edward had turned into and found it hard indeed to hide his disappointment. Even his mother, Esmeralda, was dismayed by how her son acted. The only one in the family who tolerated him was his oldest sister, Rosalie.

Bella could not blame him. The baron had seemed to burst in the seams of joy whenever he mentioned his son privy to Edward arriving. But now he could scarcely look at him.

Perhaps that was why they arrived in separate carriages the night of the Stanley ball. Edward traveled with his sister, Rosalie, and her husband, Emmett. Emmett and Jasper—both not having known him before his departure for England—did not openly express their opinion of him. But one could clearly read in their eyes exactly what they were thinking. Jasper was politer toward Edward while Emmett completely disregarded the younger man.

Bella had arrived late with her parents since her father had spilled a glass of Madeira right before going and had to change once more.

She had been to the Stanleys many times before. They lived in an elegant townhouse right off the old square. It was some ten minutes going by horse as one had to snake through all the streets to arrive. The carriage took longer as there was yet no main street in Hayes to render most part of town accessible.

The Stanleys lived in a more modern terraced house, opening straight onto the street with a few steps up to the door. There was an open space, protected by iron railings, dropping down to the basement level, with a discreet entrance down some steps off the street for servants and deliveries. The whole street was lined in this type of house. They were all tall and narrow with elegantly tall windows on the façade.

But today more carriages lined the street than usual. Footmen awaited the guests and led them inside. The Swans were led to the steps and stared at the elegant mahogany doors. Lively chatter and loud music could be heard from beyond those doors. They opened, and the warm light of the inside spilled out onto the street as they stepped inside.

The Stanleys had invited a few more people than initially thought. Men and women crammed together in the tight space as Bella stepped into the foyer. The heat washed over her as she entered; like a wall pushing against her, warning her not to delve further. The older generations still wore their lavish robes à l'anglaise, with their hair puffed and powdered. Bella's generation opted for a simpler style, with the hair not quite as extravagantly done. She wore a modest gown in white muslin with a red sash at the waist and red trimmings at the hem.

They tried to squeeze through, Charles stopping every so often when rotund men in breeches, powdered wigs, filled glasses of port in their hands and a blush to their faces would talk to him. He stopped longer once he was met by Mayor Wilson.

"Ah, Mr. Wilson!" Charles said with wide arms. He made a note of keeping good relations with one of the richer and more prominent men of Hayes. He was the type of man in whose circles Charles wished to frequent. Wilson gave a wide grin, the action making his double chin stand out more.

"Charles Swan! Of course you would be here," he laughed back in the pleasant and tranquil voice. Mayor Wilson may be a coward when it came to Forster, but he was quite pleasant and agreeable when alone and parted from that pesky soldier. Bella thought it a pity he would not stand up more for the civilians he represented.

"You must tell me more about this Collins fellow…" Charles trailed off once Bella and her mother had curtsied to the mayor.

Renée took her daughter away. "Come, let us find Mrs. and Mr. Hale for you," her mother said encouragingly. She knew how well Bella got along with Alice.

Alice was found, at last, standing by a window and fanning herself fervently as Jasper handed her some refreshments. The moment she caught sight of Bella, she rose her hand, waving her over.

"Miss Swan! You look splendid, dear!" she dared as she took a look at Bella's ensemble. While Alice wore the robe à l'anglaise, Bella's dress resembled more the French fashion of simplicity and comfort.

"You two look very handsome as well. But I did not know there would be so many people here, Mrs. Hale," Bella said as she looked around.

"I think the Stanleys might have held back their initial numbers to the rest of us. Indeed, there were so many that wanted to know the man of the hour himself."

"Major Collins is here, then?"

Alice closed in and took Bella away from her husband and Renée so that they might not be overheard. "I will not lie when my heart went aflutter at the sight of that man. He is indeed as agreeable and handsome as they say. But still not enough to tempt me from my very own Jasper," she confessed. Alice snuck a glance at her husband and a warmth lit in her eyes that Bella had never known. The loving stare the young woman sent him made Bella's own heart warm. She wished to know such love someday. She had seen that look before, when her parents thought she wasn't paying attention to them.

"I suspect Miss Stanley has monopolized his time for the rest of the evening?" Bella rose an eyebrow. The real reason as to why she had agreed to come was only because she was curious to know this new major better.

"She might, but you can still be introduced to him. I am certain he would appreciate your tender company much more than Miss Stanley's," Alice snickered as a chuckle crept up on her. "Jasper, darling, we shall be back in an instant," she cooed to her husband.

"If you insist on calling me darling, dearest, then may the moment be forever prolonged," Jasper muttered, sipping his wine in one swoop.

Alice laughed. "He hates it when I do that. But I love teasing him so."

"I think he may enjoy it for the mere fact that your laugh has provoked a smile in him," Bella leaned in to whisper. Indeed, Mr. Hale tried hard to suppress a tender smile at his wife joyous laughs.

Alice blushed as she whisked Bella away. They pressed through the throng—women in exquisite dresses and men in elegant cravats and coats. Bella's head was light with the heat and excessive essence of perfume or eau de toilette. The music would not stop playing as quartette upon quartette sounded. She could feel the rhythm of the dance stretch from the ballroom to where they were.

And then she saw him.

As handsome as ever, he was. He was in the process of listening to one of Richard Meer's jokes. Bella could not help as a blush crept across her face. He was tall, taller than most in that room. In fact, Bella would venture as far as saying that only a few could compare to his height—Emmett being one of them. There was another man she reluctantly remembered as tall—Edward Masen. But it was not a person she wished to remember now.

He was fair-haired and had his long locks swept away from his face, tied together at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon. He wore his uniform impeccably clean. The white trousers were tight and showed the outline of muscular legs. His boots reached up just past his knees and were so polished that Bella could see her own reflection in them. He bore a dark-green coat aligned with various medals. Whenever he smiled, a dimple appeared in his right cheek and his pearly white teeth illuminated the space.

"Come, Miss Swan," Alice urged as they neared him. "Did I not tell you that he was a complete Adonis?" she asked jokingly.

"Do not exaggerate, Mrs. Hale," Bella whispered under his breath. Alice frowned at the remark until Bella leaned in closer. "Comparing Greek gods with him would clearly be an insult to those gods," she stated.

Alice face lit up as laughter emerged. "Indeed, you are a funny one!"

"I try, dear, I try," Bella said, mimicking Jessica Stanley's bright voice and manner of speaking, only making Alice burst further into laughter despite herself.

"Now, what might this joke be that has provoked Mrs. Hale to lose herself so?" came a pleasant voice as a shadow blocked out the light of the crystal chandelier that illuminated part of the room. Bella looked up only to come face to face with a pair of icy blue eyes that smiled down at her.

Alice quickly controlled herself and curtsied, Bella promptly following in her friend's footsteps. "Only a pleasantry, Major Collins—you know, chatter we women find amusing." Collins lifted an eyebrow as his gaze shifted to Bella once more.

"Then I shall not press further on the matter. But pray tell, Mrs. Hale, who is this lovely friend of yours?" he asked, never once breaking eye-contact with Bella.

"This is Isabella Swan, a most dear friend."

Bella's heart skipped a beat as Alice introduced her as a dear friend. She cast a glance to her and found a heartwarming smile.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, madam." Collins bowed with an elegant and swift motion. It was only then that Bella noticed the saber tied to his hip which he had moved out of the way.

"The pleasure is mine, major. I hope you find our little town agreeable," she said.

Collins nodded firmly. "I do indeed, it is a beauty and hidden jewel. But it saddens me to see how poorly it has been taken care of. I fear the Royal Guard has been cast into a negative light due to Captain Forster's rather _unorthodox_ management of this district."

Both Bella and Alice arched an eyebrow at such words. "You bring welcoming words then, good sir, for we were not quite sure what to make of you," Alice dared say.

"Make no mistake, ladies, I came here with the sole aim of restoring the peace to Hayes. We live in troubled times and we do not need the seed of fear and division planted within the heart of our country. What we need now is to unite as a people."

"I could not agree more," Bella nodded as she smiled.

It was the first time in a while that she found herself actually enjoying a gathering. Major Collins asked her to dance on several occasions. And, as the evening progressed, she did not even notice the absence of Edward Masen. In fact, no one did.

The days after the gathering were calm. Hayes itself grew as peaceful as it could. And Bella thought the storm had washed away. The mysterious thief had not been seen and Captain Forster had calmed down. Major Collins was an excellent soldier and under his new leadership, the town slowly started to prosper.

Bella soon found herself slipping away to Raven's Grove more frequently. The balls, gatherings and tea services did little to entertain her boredom. Spending time with Alice Hale and getting to know the young woman more intimately was always a bright event in Bella's day.

She would, sometimes, happen upon the handsome Major Collins himself. It was usually whenever she ventured past the square of the garrison. He would engage her in a brief conversation and the young woman, usually with the hint of a blush on her features, would stay behind—forgetting why she had ridden past there, to begin with.

The weeks passed on, summer turned warmer as it stretched into August. The nights grew milder and the days lazier. Their relaxed town was a haven, a paradise now. The people no longer feared the Royal Guard and Captain Forster had started behaving more agreeable.

It was then that the robberies started.

They did not catch much of the townspeople's attention at first. For, only a petty carriage with hay was taken. A farmer making his way through Raven's Grove had had his cart, mule, and a load of hay stolen.

But he made little fuss about it when the mayor had Hayes recompensed him for his losses. They later found the same cart on the King's Road through Raven's Grove with the hay intact and the mule looking the worse for wear.

But then it escalated. As slowly as winter would give way to spring, the merchants coming to Hayes were robbed. It came to a point when commerce to the town was halted.

One day, in utter protest, the townspeople dared to gather in front of the garrison, urging that the major let them know of his plans to deal with the bandits.

It was just as lazy as any other day. A few had taken to the shade as the August sun shone hotly down on the dusty ground. The fountain sang its sweet tune and Mr. Simmons played chess with himself in the shade of a cherry blossom tree.

But, having come from the Town Hall in haste, the mayor was now urged by a raging mass to knock on the tall gates to the garrison.

He removed his tricorne hat to wipe away the sweat that started to form on his brow. The balding head had sweat positively pearling on it, running down his temples, the trimmed beard shaking as he mustered the courage to face the military.

But he never knocked, of course. Nay, it was Jacob Black who stepped forth and banged loudly on the gates, the only one with enough courage to do so. And Major Collins was quickly summoned. Part of his sleeves had ink stains. The man was a slave to his desk, taking care of report after report, making sure that everything ran as impeccably as it could in the small town.

Before the townspeople could speak up, he rose his hands in defeat. "I know why you are all come," he started. The proud man crossed eyes with Jacob briefly, the young man's brow furrowing as Captain Forster walked up behind Collins with an ever-present scowl on his features. The major's woolen coat made it as if he was ever in a furnace. Never able to escape the pressing heat of day.

"Trust me, good people, that we are doing everything we can to trap these bandits," he said. For the first time, Collins allowed some of the fatigue to break through his otherwise stoic exterior.

"We might as well go back to paying those ridiculous taxes, major. For we have lost more money these past few weeks than we did when Captain Forster was in charge of taxation," Jacob argued. "No merchants will come. And the same bandits have even started robbing the outlining houses of the town. Who knows what they will do next!"

"Hear, hear!" some of the townspeople said. Mayor Wilson kept his mouth shut—one of the many reasons he still held his job.

Captain Forster's scowl deepened at Jacob's words. But he said nothing. Major Collins massaged the bridge of his nose. "We have no leads—they attack as swiftly as they disappear. They leave nothing behind."

Another man stepped forth. "We know you's a good man, major. We know ya be tryin' yer best. But me family depends on me work, see? And now I've got nothin' to even put on the table. Have ya nothin' to go on, sir? We all would gladly lend ya a hand if it meant catchin' them thieves," he spoke in a heavy Cadherran accent, his hat in his hand and a look of respect on his features. In fact, many of the people present beheld the major with nothing but respect.

The major let out a small smile. "Thank you kindly, but we are the Royal Guard and our duty is to protect you—that is where your taxes go. I will not force any townspeople to put aside their daily labor to be patrolling the streets when I can offer no pay for that. No, all of you, until we get more leads, I suggest you return to your homes. Keep an eye on things, do not venture into the forest unless you can get an escort and barre your homes before going to sleep each night."

"But you have some leads?" Jacob asked. The slight undertone that Major Collins was onto something did not escape his attention.

The major shifted uncomfortably in front of the young man, not knowing how much he should divulge. "Perhaps…" he trailed off.

"Then tell us, man! Anything is better than nothing. You know we all want to help," he said heatedly.

"We only have a suspect—" Collins was cut off by the people standing in front of him as they broke out into loud rants, speculating who it might be. "But we are not sure yet!" he interrupted them. "As I said, it is only a suspicion, which I will not divulge with you. When I have an official report, I will gladly hand it to the mayor to be redistributed, if that is your wish. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe Captain Forster and I have much to do."

* * *

Bella's fingers trailed along the worn furniture as sad eyes gazed at the messy room. She never thought she would see it again. The presence of the Royal Guard was noticeable, they had taken with them large quantities of documents from the office. They had tried to find more notes left behind that would reinforce his suicide.

But, still, there were heaps of papers that lay on the floor, as they had since last seeing him working fervently in that room.

A window stood open, letting in the birdsong of the early afternoon. It echoed, out of place in the desolate room. The bed was still to be made. A cup of wine stood by the table lined against the window.

More than a month had passed, and no one had come to clean up Mr. Ridge's office. Bella Swan had offered to do so before the new tenant moved in. She knew there were things to be salvaged before they were thrown out. Her heart leapt in her chest in a painful sprint.

It looked as if Mr. Ridge still lived there; as if he had just stepped out for a moment and would be back in a flash. She swallowed the lump growing in her throat. Ridge had been an integral part of her view of Hayes; like Little Lucy or Sgt. Thompson.

And now he was gone.

She wondered if anyone else would mourn him. He had no family, no close friends or relatives. Jacob Black had offered to help the moment he found out that she was to clean up the room. But he was still to come.

She removed her shawl, top-hat and riding gloves and put on the white apron she had brought with her and then set to work immediately. She started picking up the documents and papers from the floor. She started stacking the books in the shelves until she realized the new tenant had no use for them—it was a blind man. Thus, Bella put them away, thinking they might be given away to charity.

She started stacking Ridge's notes on his desk. His handwriting was as unreadable as always—mere scribbles of intangible letters and words that only he could read. She could make out some more legible notes, detailing his thoughts for Jacob and Billy Black's trial. But it was only a few words here and there.

A few hours into her work, the previous maid of Mr. Ridge entered with a tray. She placed the cold-cut meats and bread on the table. The glass of wine still stood there, untouched. The maid stared at it for a while, her hands trembling as she turned away form it.

"Will you not take the cup, Miss Haste?" Bella asked after her. Maria stopped, her back still facing the young woman. The shoulders grew tense and Bella suspected the maid was suppressing a sob.

"I—I cannot bear to do it, miss. I have tried, believe me," she said with a waiver to her voice. "But makin' his bed, gatherin' his clothes or removin' that cup is as if I am erasin' the last of Mr. Ridge," she lamented and finally broke out into a sob.

Bella moved away from the books and walked over to the young maid. A few lose locks escaped the confinements of her cap as big tears rolled down her freckled cheeks.

"Lucas was a good man, and we will not forget him. But gripping onto him is not fair. We must let him go."

Maria sniveled, staring at the ground. "Yes, miss." The young woman soon regained her senses and Bella continued, stopping short in her tracks when a slip of paper caught her attention.

It was Mr. Ridge's suicide note.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews and all the reads! I also wish to thank those of you who are recommending my fic, there has definitely been an increase in readers because if it, and I really appreciate that!**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I am so eager to post more so that you get to read what comes next :D I am loving the theories you are sharing with me so far!**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	9. Chapter 9

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 9_

Critical eyes traced over the neat handwriting once more. It was cloudy for being in the middle of the summer. Raven's Grove had grown surprisingly chilly since morning. Perhaps a storm was nearing. Or perhaps it was not a physical storm, but rather a metaphorical manifestation of what was to come. Was this, then, the calm before it? With Major Collins now ruling with a firm and just grip over Hayes, all should be well. Alas, something was still not right, and many questions were left unanswered.

And as Bella looked at the slip of paper containing the last words of Mr. Ridge, she suspected more questions would come. Why had this been left here? Had it been a careless slip by the soldiers as they took the body of Mr. Ridge away and started investigating his death? _Had_ there even been an investigation? Everything looked—just like the maid had said—much like Ridge had left it.

And, one further question remained unanswered, one thing that visibly seemed to affect even the calm Major Collins himself.

The mysterious rescuer. The man who had managed to whisk Mr. Black out of the garrison twice.

The only witness who would speak, and who happened to be a civilian was also the one they all would least trust when it came to these matters. Mr. Simmons was not a delirious man, but he was known to stretch the truth. She did wonder, however, if the shadows of night had not played tricks on him. Many things could be twisted to the naked eye, she thought as she kept looking at the handwriting.

And then a switch went off in her head. It was as if a candle had flickered on in a moment of pure realization. Had someone been there to witness her expression change, they might have found it a comical sight. But as Bella looked at the writing more and more, she began to realize something. That something was very wrong with Mr. Ridge's neat and stylish handwriting.

Indeed, it was his handwriting. But, at the same time, it was not. She had been to his office many times, had seen the stacks of documents on the floor and then the neat ledgers in his bookshelf. When Mr. Ridge knew others would read his writing, he took great care in making it look presentable, like in his ledgers or on that slip of paper. But when he wrote as his mind ran, he usually did it in scribbles, knowing well he would be the only one able to untangle the mess he had written down.

And then it was indeed strange that the suicide note—that he himself had explicitly pointed out as being written "in haste"—would have such neat handwriting. In fact, it was a little too neat perhaps.

Bella shivered. What if Mr. Ridge had not written that note willingly? What if someone had forced him to write it? But she scoffed at herself. How could she let her mind wander? Why would someone want to murder Mr. Ridge? There was no reason and, in fact, the argument for his suicide rang more likely than the fact that Mr. Ridge could have been murdered.

She shifted uncomfortably on the soft grass as the heavy blanket of clouds grew thicker and darker. But what if Mr. Ridge had tried to send a message? Perhaps he thought the letter to be his last way of sending a message. It would be too farfetched for her to presume that Ridge would know that Bella Swan would read the letter in person and be able to deduce such information. There wasn't anything else that stood out to her. She pushed it aside, yet the thought lingered.

The young woman knew such information was dangerous to go around sharing. It was best if she left it for now until she found someone she could truly trust.

There was, of course, someone she could trust in, someone who had proven himself to be trustworthy. Major Collins. But a part of her feared what might happen to the major if she proved to be right. If Mr. Ridge had been murdered because of some unknown reason, she might drag the major down into the muck.

A thought crossed her mind. Perhaps Captain Forster was a part of this? She did not want to presume just because she despised the man. But deep in her mind, the possibility prevailed.

For now, however, she would keep such information to herself until she could be sure that she could share such critical information with Collins. If Bella proved to be right, he might well be able to clear Ridge from the stigma of having committed suicide.

And she feared, most of all, what might happen to her and her family if the murderer knew she was on his trail. Bella shivered as the first drop fell from the sky, splashing against the dry earth. April flicked her ears and fussed where she was tied, not allowed to graze. The mare, unfortunately, was still a bit round around her midriff.

A few days were enough for Bella's mind to settle. A few days spent in Alice and Japer's company got her spirits back up. They were always making her laugh and Jasper had an unusual talent for engaging her in the liveliest discussions. They would usually gather at her place. Bella suspected Alice did it because she wanted to run away from her brother.

She would see him sometimes in town and he would be civil enough to exchange a few words. The subject was usually about his many complaints of life in Angloa. He would reminisce over England and over the civilized society it had offered him. Mr. Masen never noticed how ignorant he could sound, but Bella suspected the life he had led on the northern island had blinded him to his own home.

She never talked much with Alice over the subject. But Bella heard whispers as much as anyone. It didn't take long enough for her to truly understand what a prideful man Carlisle Masen really was. The fact that his son had changed so radically had the father out of his wits. They tried to keep it within the family, but the disappointment could not be masked. Carlisle's expectations of what his son could have become were so failed that she felt a twinge of pity for him. Bella would never know what it was to be a father, but if she ever had a son behaving as Edward did, she would be upset about it too. And the worst part, she realized, was that Edward did not seem to realize this. Or he simply didn't care.

That was why Edward was usually the talk of at least one young lady. By being the heir to the Masen name he was quite sought after, despite his rather lacking abilities. He might have an attractive face and build. But the way he spoke, behaved and even dressed managed to make him one of the most unattractive men in town, according to Bella. She thought it pitiful because she truly wanted to think more of him. Perhaps, at his very core, there was something defining about him, just waiting to emerge. Bella, of course, never let Alice in on this. Alas, she feared Alice's feelings and regards to her brother were not too far removed from her own.

And then there was, of course, another who was quite the opposite.

While her infatuation with Jacob was merely on the surface and something stemming from her childhood, her interest in Major Collins greatly exceeded that. He was also a favorite of many in town. His classical good looks, manners and the way he bore himself would usually find her after him or thinking about him. But whenever she shared her feelings with Alice, her friend would brush it off.

"It is only an infatuation, dear," Alice would answer.

"My interest in Jacob was a small girlish infatuation. This is different," she would snicker back. Alice would laugh and raise an eyebrow.

"Then, tell me, what about him makes him so agreeable?"

"Well, his manners and behavior, and the way he looks."

"But that is only on the surface. What is it that has you spellbound to him, what about him makes you weak in the knees, willing to throw yourself into his arms and be kissed senseless?"

"Mrs. Hale!" Bella had blushed at that moment. To hear her friend talk of such things—things she had never known and that were quite alien to her—it always brought a crimson blush to her cheeks.

"If there is none of that, no physical attraction, only a mutual and friendly understanding, you two could never be more than good friends at best."

"But isn't marriage a friendship of sorts?" Bella had asked in confusion.

"Part of it is. But another part, a part none will speak of in polite society, is much more. Passion, want and love Isabella, and not a friendly love; a deep love that grabs hold of your heart and that never lets go—a tender love that is nurtured only by being in the presence of the other yet prevails when you are apart. It is a love you have not yet known, for if you did, you would understand what I am talking of." Alice sipped her tea in a moment of reflection.

"Is that what you feel for Mr. Hale?"

Alice had smiled and nodded. "Yes, and what he feels for me. And if there is none of that between you and Major Collins, well, then there is only a deep friendship at most."

"But love is something that, as you said, is nurtured. Surely it could grow to turn into this deeper feeling that you speak of."

"Perhaps, I agree that an instantaneous and lustful relationship usually bodes badly for both parties. Yet, even at the early stages of the relationship, it is present; at least from my experience. Listen, Isabella, you will know when you feel it, trust me."

Bella had sighed and stayed awake for many nights after that conversation. What if she never discovered such love? What if she was bound to only have a platonic relationship with her husband, whoever he might be? The thought stressed her, but it managed to take her mind off Mr. Ridge's theoretical murder.

Perhaps that was why she welcomed the day of Mayor Wilson's gathering to inaugurate his new estate. It was promised to be an eventful evening of dining and, mayhap, some dancing. And Major Collins would be there, of course. Charles Swan was overjoyed at its arrival. He knew, as well as many other parents in Hayes, that Collins was as good a catch as any. He was a decorated officer, quickly rising in the ranks, young, handsome and stemming from a prestigious family from Zafra—the southernmost city in Angloa. He was the son of an esteemed gentleman, after all. Yet, unfortunately, the only living person left bearing his name. His father had passed away a few years back while his mother had succumbed while giving birth to him. He had no aunts or uncles, nor siblings. James Collins had received his inheritance when returning from battling in France. He was not just a decorated officer, he had grown quite wealthy as well—wealthy enough to settle down and build a family.

For the first time, Bella was actually eager to be attending a ball. While others were curious to see how the mayor had decorated his new house, she only wanted to see Collins. She was surprised to find out that theirs was not the only family invited. The Stanleys, Masens, Hales and a handful others had been asked to come as well—those who made out the inner circle of the mayor's acquaintance.

She could not have wished for a more perfect moment. And, indeed, the evening arrived. Before long the Swans were taken by horse and carriage to the country house south of Hayes, going toward Coldwick. It was not too far removed, only about thirty minutes riding, forty-five going by carriage. Yet, the house was still so out of the way that she could not see it on the horizon from the highest window in their own house.

"I heard from Lady Genene that he has done wonders with the house," Renée commented as the carriage rolled on, the curtains drawn to keep out the dust from the road.

"I suppose anyone might think the old Roderick estate looks better now with its improvements. It was practically a relic, my dear."

"He must have had it restored during the spring," Bella added. "But why would he wish for both a townhouse and a country estate?"

"He is the mayor, dear, he can afford whatever he wants. Not even seven thousand a year can get you some of the estates they are selling out here, as it is Lord Newton who sells them—he robs them all blind if you ask me," Charles muttered under his breath. When both daughter and mother rose an eyebrow at such a remark, he cleared his voice. "Forget I said that."

The carriage took them between the rolling green hills as the last rays of day bid farewell until morning. The silver light of the moon soon emerged as a bright beacon in the night sky, the stars twinkling faintly, trying to outshine the moon. But, they failed miserably that night.

They eventually reached the renovated country house—or rather an estate. It was a picturesque estate made up of several buildings with an architecture that felt strange to witness so far up north. Near Coldwick, one might see more such similar estates. The architecture was decidedly of Spanish and Portuguese influence.

During the war of the Spanish succession, many noblemen who had been disgraced at court had fled their country—especially from the south of the Iberian Peninsula—bringing their customs and traditions with them. Most settled near Coldwick or the isle of Cantabria and acquired lands from the crown and built their houses. One such man had settled there seventy-five years prior. But although he had built a fine house, he soon realized he could return home and, so, he left the once grand house twenty years after having it built. He returned to his lands and took most of value with him. A poor Angloan nobleman had settled in the house a few years later but found keeping such a big estate running was hard without the sufficient funds and, a few years later—some forty years ago—he too left the estate. The last person to settle there had been an old widow, Lady Roderick, who lived in the run-down estate for thirty years until passing away, with no heirs to inherit the building and lands adhered to it. It was taken by the crown and then passed over to the county, until recently, when Mayor Wilson bought it at a rather low sum.

The Swans did not know what to expect; an estate that had been renovated for the better part of four months might still very much be run-down.

However, they were pleasantly surprised.

The cluster of buildings—where one stood out in particular—were whitewashed with light reddish sand-colored tiles making up the roof. There were no gates nor any lane to lead up to the structure, only naked grassland. But the elegant gates that led into the first patio—with their swirling iron and with the torches illuminating the entrance, twisting vines and wisteria flowers accentuating the perfume of the night—took her breath away.

The base of the building was a large patio, enclosed by the very gate by which they were standing. A servant came and took their carriage and led their driver to the stables while another led them inside. Around the main courtyard, Bella spotted more buildings, abandoned, probably not yet cleaned or renovated.

Elegant music flooded out together with light as they walked past the blanket of flowery perfume. A slight shiver of strange comfort escaped her. The serene beauty of such a night did not go by unnoticed. She noted that the mayor had a good eye, the flora and fauna were barely trimmed, allowed to roam almost free, yet still subdued enough that they did not feel overwhelming.

A large mahogany door led to the main entrance, turned into a foyer. The inside was more modern, and one could never guess that they were in a southern-style estate from the way the inside looked.

A wistful sigh evaded her. She was so infinitely used to these settings by now. The glitter and glamour, the laughter and rich alcohol in elegant crystal glasses. The music and practiced dances. Of course, a small part of her did not mind it that much. But it was what went on beyond the façade that had her turn away from that world. The marriage transactions; displaying daughters to gentlemen like cattle. She wondered how many of the young girls in there would be able to experience that intense feeling Alice spoke of. And would Bella? It had never bothered her, so why did it now?

They stepped in and were met by an elegant open-air patio with a small orchestra at one end and many already gracing the floor. Chatter was alive. But, unlike so many other gatherings and balls Bella had been to, this was different. There was an air of youth here that she could not quite put her finger on. A vivaciousness that did not belong, that broke through the old and boring. It could be credited to that most of the attendees were her age. Scarcely any of the older gentlemen and ladies had come.

"So few chaperones," Charles snickered under his breath.

"Come, come, Charlie, one guardian per young lady is enough, don't you think?" Renée tsked. Bella agreed with her mother. There was no need to overtly protect the young women there, for they knew exactly why they attended these gatherings. The chaperones were mostly to reinforce their modesty or surprising lack thereof.

"And where is the man of the hour? I wish to congratulate him on such a splendid estate!" Charles exclaimed as he winked at a few familiar faces.

Mayor Wilson was off to the side, laughing with some other prominent members of their community around a bowl of punch.

"And I wonder where Major Collin might be," she mumbled. "I heard he was invited as well."

"Boring the poor chaps who decided to go with him to the stables. There was talk of looking at horses and perhaps Mr. Wilson's old armory collection," a drawl sounded behind them. The hairs on Bella's neck stood up as she recognized that voice, the boring drawl, and bothered air.

The three turned around to be met by none other than Edward Masen.

"Mr. Masen, we did not know you would come," Renée said, the first to step forth and speak to him as politely as she could.

Edward extracted a handkerchief from the cuff of his emerald silk coat, blotting his powdered cheek with it. "I thought I would attend with my sisters _in lieu_ of my parents when I heard that the mayor was throwing this lavish gathering. I couldn't possibly pass the chance. The renovation of this building has been quite the talk of the town lately," he rose an eyebrow. Charles smirked at the ineptitude of the young man, feeling he had dodged a bullet in not having made him his son in law.

"Indeed," Bella answered distantly. "And where might your sister be?" she asked, hoping to find Alice as soon as possible. She did not wish to spend the rest of the evening with her parents, and even less by Edward's side.

"Well," Edward answered with his normal nasal tone; as if the mere question tired him. "Rosalie is in the current company of Miss Stanley. Alice went on the tour of the stables with Major Collins."

"I did not know Mrs. Hale cared so for horses or weapons," Bella replied bluntly.

"My sister would surprise you in more ways than one, miss," he answered. The ghost of a smirk seemed to appear on his features. But Bella must have imagined it because the usual unbothered air was ever present. Maybe she wanted Edward Masen to smirk, maybe he would become more tolerable if he did so. "I could take you to her if you wish," he added, blotting his forehead once more.

Although his company could be rather irksome at certain moments, Edward could offer rather interesting viewpoints at other times.

But she could not tell that to Mr. Masen, lest his ego got yet another boost. "Unchaperoned, Mr. Masen?" she asked, unable to stop the smirk now apparent on her own features as something akin of a fluster invaded his.

"I would never dare to do such a thing to you, madam. If your mother might wish to come, I will see no harm in it," he quickly answered, the voice rising in pitch.

"I think we can go with him, Bella," her mother said. "It is good of you both to behave so properly," she finished. Bella could not sense if the remark was meant as truthful or as sarcastic. The undertone to her words completely went past Edward, never much aware of anything but the finer things in life.

"As my mother said, Mr. Masen, we are much obliged," Bella smiled. Her father was about to protest but had no mind to follow them. It was soon that he joined Wilson's group on the other side of the room.

Bella would glance at Edward from time to time as he walked by their side with a stiff posture and high collar. He did not offer them much conversation at first but slowly started to loosen up. Although his dull and somewhat arrogant persona didn't irritate her too much, she did not think badly of him as a person. After all, Edward Masen had never hurt anyone or gotten in anyone's way. He simply lived, like the rest of them—in his rather peculiar way. She wondered if his father had set his sights on finding his son a suitable wife. Mr. Masen was of marrying age, after all. In his mid-twenties, he should have been able to procure a suitable match. But it looked dark for the fop. Not even Jessica Stanley seemed desperate enough to ignite a relationship with Mr. Masen. Bella suspected that the dull and dandyish exterior of the man deterred even the vainest of women.

Bella's white and bright emerald muslin gown quite matched Edward's coat. But the clear distance she so decidedly set between them screamed that the young Miss Swan had no intention for the association to go further. Her stiff posture clearly indicated that theirs was a mere acquaintance and a malfunction in their wardrobe that had led to their equal dress.

Edward Masen led mother and daughter through corridor after corridor, until he stopped briefly. Bella had grown positively lightheaded from so many turns. Renée's lips were set in a firm line, yet she did not openly protest, still while knowing they must be lost by now.

"This cannot be the way to the stables, Mr. Masen. Are we lost?" Bella chided with a playful grin on her features. Edward blotted his face in thought, slowly removing part of the white powder he had so carefully applied. The rouge suffered as well.

"We are not lost, Miss Swan, we are merely taking the scenic route," he mumbled. They went back as Bella chuckled. Edward retorted to looking into a few rooms. They finally arrived at a larger door.

"I do not think you should open that door, Mr. Masen," Renée observed. But Edward did not listen. He opened it, promptly stepping into what looked like an office. It faced the patio and the light from the dancefloor streamed in with sharp beams, cutting through the desolate darkness.

"This is obviously not the stables. But I explicitly remember Major Collins going up this way," Edward muttered.

"I did," a pleasant voice sounded behind them. Bella and Renée turned around swiftly while Edward Masen jumped in place, almost falling over due to his overt clumsiness.

"Good Lord in heaven," he breathed as he regained his footing. "You do not sneak up on people like that, Major Collins," the startled man chastised, grabbing at his chest to calm his frantic heart.

Collins looked rather befuddled. "I merely answered your question," he frowned. The soldier stared at the fop in amusement.

To his benefit, Edward did regain his composure rather quickly. But the powder that had served to brighten up his visage, was not necessary since a shade of white had stretched over his features.

"I suspect you three did not intend to end up in the mayor's personal office," Collins continued. He was used to the estate since the mayor would ask him to come over often and discuss Hayes. It was something Wilson had not been able to do with Forster. Thus, he had sat in that office many times for the past few weeks.

Bella blushed. "Indeed not, Major Collins. Mr. Masen was kind enough to escort us to where you and your party had gone—the stables I believe." Edward nodded with an air of indifference at this. "Because I wanted to find my friend, Mrs. Hale," she continued.

"We had no intention whatsoever to impose," Renée added. "I believe I myself was taken aback by the exquisite rendering of this estate. I find the refurbishing quite well done. I must commend the mayor of his choice of craftsmen and laborers to have gotten this house ready in such a short time."

Collins smiled, but before he could speak, Edward interrupted him, looking annoyed. "I tell you, Major Collins, this house is positively built like a maze on purpose." Edward could not help but frown.

Collins chuckled. "Let me take you to Mrs. Hale, Miss Swan. And you, Mrs. Swan, I shall guide back to the main floor so that you may forward your compliment to Wilson himself." He looked at Edward for a moment with his lips pressed together as Bella accepted the major's arm with delight. "I think it best you follow us, Mr. Masen, lest you get lost again," he added in a friendly tone.

And, so, the four were off again, Edward Masen trying to brush the whole thing off as the fault of the construction of the house. But after a while, Bella heard him stifle a chuckle. He soon left them alone as Major Collins took them out from the inner patio and toward the east extension of the house where a group of people stood admiring a white stallion. Renée had already been shown where to continue to end up by her husband and Wilson's group.

"I think Mr. Masen must have been very embarrassed," Bella offered, interrupting their silent walk.

Collins' jaw was pressed together. "I pity that man," he said after a while, taking care in not being overheard by Edward who kept a rather large distance between them.

"Why?"

"Because of the way his father treats him."

The young woman found that she was pressing her lips together now as well. "You are rather perceptive, major," she added faintly.

"It cannot be ignored; the way Lord Masen looks at his son whenever he does or says something extensively vain. I understand his sentiment—Lord Masen is a proud man. To think that he sent away his son to one of the best universities in the world and have him return thusly must be a hard blow."

"You really respect Lord Masen, it seems."

"He is quite well-known in Safeira and quite admired by those who know him."

"Did you have an acquaintance there?"

Collins shook his head as Alice caught sight of them near. "I never had the pleasure, I was usually away at campaigns. I was away on the campaign during the southern French conflict of Bordeaux of 91'," he answered.

"I did not know you were in the war," Bella answered. Angloa had been one of the first countries to respond strongly against the French as the revolution broke out. But they had soon pulled back as the other stronger European monarchies decidedly intervened. Angloa could not afford losing lives in a war.

"Only for a few months. I was sent back." He ended that part of the conversation as swiftly as he had started it. "I never had the time to attend soirées and gatherings when I returned and, before I knew it, I was posted here. Luck would have it, however, that I would get to be better acquainted with Lord Masen."

"His whole family is admirable. I wonder what might have happened to Mr. Masen for him to have turned out that way," Bella sighed.

"Extensive comfort, Miss Swan, and pampering of the worst sort. But, we are not to interfere in such matters," he added.

"I do believe you are right."

They were met by Alice who was head over heels in love with the white stallion, a purebred warmblood that had been gifted to the mayor from one of his richer friends from Wessport.

"I must say, Miss Swan, that I am quite glad about your presence here tonight," Collins whispered for her ears only. Bella smiled, embarrassed at the daring remark.

"I am honored that you would feel so," she answered in equally hushed tones.

"Is honored all you are?" he dared.

"Major Collins, sometimes being too forward might not be a good thing," she answered.

"Forgive me, that was not my intent, madam," he smirked. "I only wanted to remark on your presence here tonight, and how it pleases me—only as a very friendly acquaintance, of course." He spoke the dreaded word "acquaintance" and Bella bit her teeth hard together. She loathed that word. But she suspected that was not what Collins generally implied.

"Well, gentlemen, ladies, shall we return back to the feast? I am quite sure Lancel will be here for you to visit further if you forward your wishes to Wilson," he said, blinking at Bella as he did so.

"I believe some dancing is in order," Alice said in jovial tones.

They returned, and the night progressed. The intense light from the moon subsided as they progressed into the wee hours of the morning.

But, then, the pace of the evening came to an abrupt halt as something was not quite right. Some guests had started returning home, the rest of them left quite intoxicated. Even Major Collins had had a few drinks more than usual. Bella and Alice had refrained from the strong wine, a strange headache besieging Alice. Bella had stayed at her side when the young woman was suddenly feeling faint.

"There is a room beyond those doors," Wilson said, pointing to the gallery watching over the patio, close to his office. "She can rest there. I will show you the way," he offered. Jasper Hale followed them, supporting his wife as nausea overtook.

Alice lay down on the bed and as the moment passed, she regained the color on her face and her composure. "I do not know what overcame me, but it seems to have passed."

"We should get a physician to look at you first thing in the morning," Jasper said worriedly as he kneeled by her side, holding her hand. Bella backed away from the tender moment between the two lovers. It was there, that passion, that love Alice spoke of. She saw it as clear as day in their eyes and she grew jealous, never having known such a sentiment.

They stayed in the room for a while, losing track of time. When Bella looked out the balcony, she realized it was later than guessed. Almost all of the guests had left now. Only a few soldiers, Collins, her parents and the Stanley's were still left. Edward had returned home, together with his sister and her husband.

Bella went to sit in one corner while Alice was feeling more herself. Bella was ready to go back to the carriage and return home. The magic of the night had long since died down for her. Dawn was only a few hours away and she longed for her own bed. She thought back to the evening, to the remarks made by Major Collins. A smirk spread on her lips as her mind wandered.

The crash brought her attention back to reality.

Shouts followed as some of Collins' soldiers rushed past the corridor, one shouting orders at the others. Bella rushed out on the inner patio balcony, as confused as Alice and Jasper.

She caught sight of her parents in the midst of the tumult. The mayor looked white as a ghost while Major Collins was talking to one of his soldiers. A blazing shot pierced the peaceful night like a scream and they all stopped. Another blast of a pistol rang in heavy vibrations. Bella froze where she stood.

"Miss Swan, Alice, I think it best if you remain here," Jasper hurried as he rushed for the door, sprinting past the corridor to the large inner patio, to see if he could figure out what was happening.

"What on earth do you think has happened?" Alice whispered to her friend.

"I don't know," Bella whispered back, her body tense as she met Alice's wide eyes. She did not know why they were whispering, but talking in their normal voice seemed oddly out of place; as if someone might discover them.

More sounds of struggle sounded, and both women grew increasingly alarmed. Jasper was with Bella's parents, Wilson, and the Stanelys down on the patio floor, trying to make sense of it all. Major Collins had run to his soldiers.

A silence settled, so eerie and uncomfortable that Bella was about ready to scream to alleviate that pressing vacuum of sound. It was a calm she found alarmingly frightening as if at any moment something would explode; as if something would come crashing down on them like a storm. She and Alice went to the wide balcony, to make sure that they had not been left alone.

Seconds ticked by, excruciatingly tense.

More shouts sounded, ripping through the silence. Then chaos seemingly erupted behind their closed door, in the corridor beyond. Alice pressed against the railing while, by some strange reason, Bella's curiosity got the better of her. Some unknown force made her walk across the room and turn the handle. She _had_ to know what was going on.

"Isabella?" Alice hissed in confusion.

The young woman hesitated on the handle. Some grunts and punches filtered through the door. She pressed her ear against it as sound once more died down. The handle turned smoothly by her hand and she forced the door to open for her.

Bella stepped out into the corridor, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Two soldiers lay in a heap off to the side. They were lucid but did not look too keen on getting off the floor. Some hard punches had been directed to various parts of their faces. She noticed thin slashes here and there, made by either a knife or a rapier.

"What is happening?" she asked them in a hissed whisper.

"The devil," one said faintly while feebly making the sign of the cross. His head was, no doubt, throbbing incessantly.

More grunts and punches came from the other end of the corridor that quickly disappeared. "Isabella, get in here!" Alice whispered in a panic. She must have thought her mad. And perhaps Isabella Swan was a little bit crazy at that point.

"Alice," she said, turning around and ignoring all decorum. "We need to get to Jasper and my parents. We should not stay here!" she said with alarm.

There was something—a haunting in the young woman's face, a fear that could not be described that convinced her. Alice nodded, lifted her skirts and darted for the steps leading down from the second floor to the patio. Bella was promptly following her. They were close to the scuffle but did not have to pass it directly.

Alice was down the stairs when, suddenly, to their right on the other balcony, a shadow jumped down, chased by soldiers.

Bella froze at the sight of it, the hairs on her arms standing upright.

A dark shadow, someone completely enveloped in black, stood on the other side of the patio opposite to her.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading and following this story! Don't forget to R&R!**

**Note: Inspiration for Wilson's estate is taken from southern Spanish homes. Google "andalusian hacienda" or "cortijo" to get a better picture of the place I described. I'll make sure to post some pictures on my Tumblr as well!**

**Cheers!**

**Isabelle**


	10. Chapter 10

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 10_

Mrs. and Miss Stanley let out the loudest screams Bella had ever heard. More soldiers flooded the patio and lunged for the black shadow. In one corner, a soldier loaded a musket, ready to fire at it. He missed, only provoking a warm, echoing and deliciously low laugh from that shadow as he did so.

The shadow fought off the soldiers with the flash of his sword, quickly and gracefully disarming them. It came to a point where the soldiers, five untrained young men, hesitated.

Bella pressed at the edge of the stairs while Alice had managed to go to Jasper's side. The specter, or whatever it was—darted past the baffled spectators, right up the stairs where Bella stood. The young woman's chocolate brown eyes widened as the black figure neared her.

She found her senses and quickly backed away into the corridor. Alas, fate only had it that it was exactly where he was headed.

The two soldiers who had lingered on the carpeted floor of the corridor had recovered sufficiently. While one lunged at him, the other gently moved her out of harm's way.

Bella saw a flash of white teeth as the shadow grinned. He disarmed the first soldiers in one swift move, knocking him out with his elbow. The other he fought against a little longer. The swords clashed and rang through her ears as deafening drums, the scuffle a blur in her eyes. It was only after a short while that the young woman realized he was _toying_ with the soldier. The mysterious shadow disarmed his opponent and knocked him out, promptly turning to Bella.

She felt naked under his gaze—flaming eyes grabbing hold of her and burning her alive. She could see nothing but a black silhouette, an outline of a man that filled the corridor. And while she discerned no human features, he could feel his gaze resting on her form and how it made her shiver where she stood. He started walking toward her, and in a moment of desperation, she grabbed the nearest weapon she could find: a small porcelain vase.

"You will cease your approach, or I shall do my best to harm you!" she managed to shout at him. It came out weaker than she would have liked; a slight tremble to her voice, her pitch a few tones higher than usual.

The shadow stopped; only a few meters from her. Her heart was racing; as if she had just run across the patio. He bowed, finally, mockingly, and turned around. When he disappeared behind the corner, Bella's knees buckled, and she dropped the vase with a loud crash—the final commotion of the night.

She did not know how much time had passed, only that she did not dare pick herself up. Bella understood why those soldiers had remained on the floor. Yet, this time, both had definitely been knocked out.

"Bella?" a panicked voice sounded. It was soon that her mother rounded the corner, rushing to her and kneeling by her side on the floor. Renée took her daughter's face in her hands. "Are you alright, did he harm you?" she asked. Charles, Jasper, and Alice were soon there.

She could not speak at first, nor could she stop trembling.

"N-no," she finally answered.

Alice looked at the soldiers lying unconscious on the floor. "Goodness gracious," she whispered, leaning closer to Jasper.

They all soon regained some wit. Charles Swan had remained silent the entire time, but his pale face and the profuse sweat running down his temples spoke for itself. Renée seemed to be the only one having a composure to speak of. She helped her daughter off the floor whose face was as white as a ghost's, never ceasing with the shivering and trembles. They all walked down to the patio where Genene Stanley was being fanned by her daughter. The woman had fainted at the very sight of the shadow.

"Major Collins will capture him, dearest," Mr. Stanley kept reassuring his wife as he held her hand. The sickly tint to the woman's skin told that she had little faith in that statement.

Wilson was worst off. He trembled visibly, his whole body shaking, his wig askew and his double chins moving each time he gulped for air like he was drinking it.

None of them dared leave the estate until receiving word from Collins. Hours passed and soon dawn was upon them. Bella welcomed the first rays of the sun as they passed the horizon. They pushed past the darkness and mystery of night and they brought the day, where everything was clear and made sense.

Major Collins soon arrived with some soldiers. They had chased after the unknown man as soon as he had left the estate. The major seemed furious as he entered the estate. He caught sight of the subdued faces and recollected himself.

"Major Collins, what on earth just happened!" Jessica Stanley demanded; a sentiment they all now shared. Bella sat in a chair, quiet and subdued, trying to make sense of the last few hours. Her mother had placed her brocade shawl across her shoulders, as her daughter had caught a sudden chill, no doubt from the shock of her interaction with the man.

"Yes, who was that man?" Charles asked.

"I-in my own house!" the mayor managed to say as he stood opposite the major. Something flashed in his eyes, Bella wondered just how afraid the mayor really was.

Collins let out a small puff of air through his nose, the fatigue on his face shining through the thin coating of dust he had received on his otherwise impeccable uniform.

"We did not manage to catch him," he started, soon interrupted by Genene Stanley.

"He is still out there?" she exclaimed. "Oh heavens!" Her husband fanned her as another fainting spell approached. Bella's lips pressed together.

"What did he want?" Jasper interrupted. "Did he steal something?"

Collins shook his head. "He was in Mr. Wilson's office and might not have been discovered if Mr. Wilson hadn't sent one of his footmen to fetch one of his old swords hanging on the wall. But whatever he was looking for, he did not find it. We rode to the garrison and received news that someone broke into my office there as well."

"Do you think this is the same man that saved Billy Black?" Jasper asked suddenly. A strange sheen of curiosity now shone through the subdued fear. Alice's brow furrowed, as did Collins'.

"What makes you suspect that?"

"Well," Jasper began, turning around. "I think we can all safely say he matched the description Mr. Simmons gave of him some weeks ago. After all, your soldiers would not give any information and Mr. Simmons is the only civilian who has supposedly seen him."

"It is also widely known that Mr. Simmons is known to exaggerate," Charles Swan put in.

"And what description did Mr. Simmons give of this man?" Wilson asked, stepping in.

Jasper's shoulders tensed up visibly, almost as if he was embarrassed to give away such information. "He said," he hesitated. "That the man who rescued Mr. Black from the garrison was the ghost of Edward Cullen," he answered tightlipped.

They all would have laughed in any other circumstance. Bella however, had heard Mr. Simmons very same description of the mysterious man. She had seen the excitement and fear in the old man's eyes. Furthermore, the people present in Wilson's estate had seen the shadow and knew that Mr. Simmons had been right.

"Perhaps, major, it is due time that you reveal to us what the soldiers have witnessed as well. I am decidedly certain this is the same man who rescued Mr. Black from the garrison jail. The way he handled your soldiers with such ease has settled those doubts," Mr. Stanley added.

"I am afraid I am not able to share such information with you." He received disappointed stares and Collins' shoulders sank. "What I can say about your observations, however, is that I never got a good look at him. I am very skeptic to the idea that a man who has been dead for nearly three hundred years decided to rise from the grave, when such a feat is, in all sense and purpose, impossible. I tell you, did anyone of you get a good look at him?" he asked. "Could not gossip from town have twisted your minds into believing what Mr. Simmons said?"

They all remained silent. For some of them—those who caught a glimpse—it might have been a possibility. But not for Bella. While she had not gotten a clear view of him due to her fear, she still knew, she was certain he looked like the statue in Hayes.

"I must say, I have seen the painting of General Cullen in Safeira many times, and I would dare say it was a close likeness," Jasper started. "And Miss Swan got a good look at him, did you not?" he turned to her. Bella looked up to see all faces placing their full attention on her.

"What _did _happen in that corridor between the two of you?" Jessica Stanley asked.

"You were alone with him?" Collins asked in surprise. A small undertone of outrage laced his voice as well.

"Two of your soldiers were there, major, but they took quite a beating." She stared at her clenched hands. "He disarmed them as if he were playing against children," she shivered. "I have never seen the like." Her face grew pale again.

Jasper looked alarmed to have been the cause of such discomfort. Collins looked worried too. "He did not harm you, did he?" Collins asked carefully.

Bella shook her head. "He disarmed the soldiers and knocked them out. He started moving toward me but then turned around," she whispered.

"Why?" Alice asked.

Bella blushed at her next words. "…I threatened him… with a vase," she said. The crimson on her cheeks did her good, however, for it brought back the color to her face. Bella could not stop blushing at her own folly. How could she ever have believed herself capable of fighting him off with a mere vase? She turned to the mayor. "I am afraid I dropped it, Mr. Wilson. Do forgive me," she managed to state.

Wilson shook his head, he himself still quite shaken and not overtly worried over some broken porcelain. "Think nothing of it, Miss Swan," he whispered as he calmed down.

"A vase?" Collins asked in disbelief; as if he could not comprehend what he was hearing. His soldiers had gone up against this man, armed to the teeth, yet it was a young woman with nothing but a porcelain vase as her weapon that managed to send him away.

"Maybe he did not go up against you because you threatened him?" Renée asked. A part of the collected woman hoped that this man, whoever he was, had left her daughter alone out of a sense of propriety and respect.

"Don't think for a second that this man left her because of any noble cause." Wilson turned to them all. "This man is dangerous and should not be romanticized," he forced, looking aggravated. "He just invaded my home for God's sake!"

"Miss Swan, any other information you may have gathered from your short time with him will serve me well. Did you recognize him in any way, his height, his build?" Collins asked as he kneeled next to her, ignoring Wilson's small outburst.

"He was just a blur of darkness. The corridor was dimly lit as well. I could not discern his face, major. I only saw a black silhouette, nothing more," she lamented. It was true, the stress had not allowed her to see more than that. Bella chastised herself, he had been a few meters from her, she should have seen at least something. "I think he wore a mask," she added faintly.

"Heaven protect us," Genene muttered from the chair as she had overheard the conversation. "A devil has claimed Hayes!"

"Genene, darling, calm yourself," her husband hushed.

Bella and Collin's eyes met briefly, and he could not mask the disappointment in them. Collins had expected that the young Miss Swan might have seen more. But a calming smile soon replaced the disappointment, he seemed set on catching the man, however.

"I think it best we get you all to your homes. It has been an eventful night, to say the least."

"Is it safe to leave the estate?" Renée wondered.

"I will escort you to town myself, with my soldiers. I am truly sorry for what has transpired here tonight," he said with an apologetic smile.

"I am not staying here either!" Wilson stammered. "Not even with a thousand soldiers protecting me. The safety of the town will do me much better," he continued as he went to instruct a footman to gather his belongings and send someone in advance to prepare his other house.

They all gathered their things and waited for their carriages to be prepared. Bella found that, as it got lighter, she got calmer, thankful for the day now fully emerging. She was constantly looking out the window of their carriage as they rode back to Hayes, making sure that Collins never left their side.

When they were back at the house, she was taken to her room by Sara. One look at Bella's haunted expression told Sara that something was wrong. Bella had no strength to speak of it and soon fell asleep on her bed, still fully dressed.

When she woke up, later that afternoon, gossip had already spread through town like wildfire. Bella suspected Jessica Stanley and her mother were the guilty parties. It was soon that several maids of the house sought her out and asked her if the information was true. Bella locked herself in her room, afraid to step outside and face another questioning maid.

Renée and Charles Swan grew worried as their daughter did not emerge until the next day. She was silent at breakfast. Faint circles under her eyes spoke of lack of sleep that night. Even chewing grew into an arduous task for her.

But, in a few days, the shock waned away, and she was back to her usual schedule. The first time she visited Alice after the incident, they had sat in Alice's parlor quietly sipping tea as the clock had ticked in the background.

"Isabella, we are good friends, are we not?" Alice asked, breaking the tense silence in the room.

"I would like to think so," Bella answered. The clock ticked more, someone walked past the closed doors of the parlor.

"Then tell me that what I saw that night was mere imagination, that my mind was playing tricks on me," Alice blurted out. It seemed also she had not been able to process the information of what had happened a few days ago.

Bella forced herself to meet the inquisitive and desperate eyes. "I am sorry, Alice." It was strange, she didn't know when they had gone to say the other's first name.

Alice leaned against the chair, the dull aura emerging from her clashing with the lighthearted draping and furniture of the picturesque room. The birdsong pushed against the closed glass-doors from the gardens and the breeze made the branches dance against the tall windows.

"Jasper has been going to Mr. Simmons every day, trying to gather more information," she whispered. "I think it is his way of processing this whole thing.

"But it was not truly Edward Cullen we saw that night, you _do_ understand that, right Alice?" Bella refused to believe in the supernatural. What had shaken her was to have been in such close proximity to a man who had taken out nine soldiers several times without breaking as much as a sweat.

"I do not know what to believe anymore," Alice said as she put aside the cup. The tea had long since lost its warmth.

"Did I hear my name?" a drawl sounded. Both women had not noticed as the parlor doors were opened. Bella turned together with Alice and caught sight of Edward Masen.

For the first time, she realized Edward Masen shared his first name with Edward Cullen. The mere thought that the man from last night at Wilson's and the fop standing before her shared anything in common was ridiculous. She could not even begin to process that the man from that night should choose to identify himself with the name "Edward" when the only other Edward she knew was the one in front of her. No, Bella knew in her heart at that very moment that calling the man from that night "Edward" felt wrong and out of place.

"We were discussing the incident at Wilson's estate," Alice said with a frown. Mr. Masen wrinkled his nose.

"I have not been able to ignore the chatter about it for days. Tis the only thing anyone talks about," he said, sitting down in a chair close to Alice, a lace handkerchief pressed faintly against his forehead in dramatic composure as he did so.

"Be glad that you were not there, brother," Alice chastised. "I am still unable to understand what transpired that night."

"So am I," Bella whispered to herself. She might have imagined it, but the shadow of compassion washed over Edward's features.

"I could never begin to imagine the distress you must have gone through, Miss Swan." He seemed genuinely worried for her well-being. It provoked a gentle smile in Bella.

"Thank you, Mr. Masen. But he did not get to any of us. I am just glad we all got away unscathed."

"You do not think he was out to hurt you?" he asked in a worried tone. Edward Masen paled visibly as his nostrils flared from fear. The lace handkerchief, a frilly thing, came up to dot away at his face. Alice rolled her eyes.

"Worry not, brother dear, I do not think he would take interest in chasing…_you_. You pose a very small threat to that man."

"Now, Alice, I may seem to be an inept sort of fellow when it comes to a fight. But if I were ever to have to defend myself," he started passionately, raising a finger in the air. The tone of his voice started rising with misplaced passion. "If I were ever to defend myself," he repeated. "I would astound all," the sentence ended in the familiar drawl.

"I find that highly unlikely," Alice drawled back, mocking his voice.

A laugh escaped Bella, despite herself. A hand flew up to her mouth as her eyes widened. "Forgive me, I did not mean offense by laughing!" she said behind the hand.

"Do not worry, Miss Swan, your amusement is a breath of fresh air. I am glad to see you smiling once more," Masen blinked. Bella saw through the white powder, rouge, and arrogance. She saw a man who genuinely cared if she was alright or not. She found the sentiment strangely out of character for him.

"Glad to see you succeeded, Edward. My brother has been trying and failing to bring a smile out of me the whole afternoon. I cannot laugh when I saw what I saw."

"You saw a common thief, sister. What more is there to it?" Edward drawled, his hand flailing lazily in the air. The perfumed cuff flailed with it, the white lace dancing around his hand. There was more frill on it than on his silly handkerchief.

Bella and Alice exchanged silent glances. They knew that it was more than a common thief. Much more.

"A common thief who easily knocked out at least half a dozen soldiers," Bella added in after a while.

Edward whisked the lace handkerchief from his cuff and blotted his nose with it. "My dear," he said in the arrogant and bored tone. "I can bet you that every other fool out there would out-best the soldiers of these barracks. They have proved to be incompetent fellows. They are known in Safeira as the worst of the worst."

"It seems Major Collins has his work cut out for him, then," Alice cut in.

"That man is indeed a saint. He could have gotten out of taking charge of this garrison, you know. He could have gone elsewhere. But he saw our plight and came to our rescue. A most gallant action, if you ask me," Edward mumbled on.

"I still find it strange, don't you?" Bella said in a pensive voice.

"What?" Alice asked.

"Why would this thief seek out the new house of the mayor, and at such a lavish party? What was he looking for there? Wilson reported nothing stolen, so what was he searching for?" She did not notice the intense eyes of Edward Masen bore themselves into her. How they stared behind the mask of indifference.

"I asked Jasper the same thing," Alice agreed. "I have no idea what he could be searching for. But the timing was quite a brilliant feat. The man knew exactly when to strike. Think of it, it was mostly _after_ most guests had left. Those of us left were either tired or drunk. He had it easy from the start. The only reason he was discovered was due to an abnormality; because Mr. Wilson wanted to show off his weapons collection. If not for that, the intruder would have been successful."

Bella stared down at her hands resting in her skirts. "Maybe, if he had been successful in his endeavor, we would not have had to see that ghastly apparition." Her voice shook as she spoke.

"Miss Swan," Edward said alarmed as he leaned toward her. He had grabbed Alice's fan and started fanning her with fresh air. "You grew terribly pale now all of a sudden," he continued with worry in his voice.

"I… am quite well, Mr. Masen. But I believe I shall retire back home. Perhaps we can meet up again soon," she looked at Alice. "When the memories aren't as fresh?"

Bella stood up, supported by Edward. She was so unaware of how tall he really was. He would tower over her if it were not for the slouch he had in his shoulders, making him some centimeters shorter. He had a footman come help her to her carriage.

Just as Bella passed the threshold to the parlor, she barely missed Carlisle as he walked in. But he caught sight of her. Carlisle Masen looked at her and then back at his children. His eyes came to linger on Edward. "Miss Swan did indeed look ill," he said as he walked into the parlor. Edward leaned against the back of the sofa with an indifferent look on his face.

"I am feeling quite faint as well—after imagining what she and my sister have gone through…" he trailed off

"You inquired after what happened that night when I explicitly forbade you to? Have you no tact son? Did you not see the state she was in?" Carlisle growled. "You shame me with such actions." His voice grew more and more heated until Esmeralda came running, wondering what the commotion was about.

"Carlisle, my love, calm yourself."

"Calm myself? How can I remain calm when my son is the peacock of the town? The laughingstock of the village! My daughters have more tact and courage than him!" he exclaimed, right in front of Alice and Edward.

"Father… that was a bit too harsh," Alice defended her brother. Carlisle had burst out into similar banters before, deeply hurt at seeing his son transformed into such a man. The indifference and arrogance sent him raging because it reminded Carlisle of men that he himself despised back in Safeira—all good for nothings. And he had never wanted Edward to turn out that way.

"That is quite alright, Alice." Edward rose up from the couch. He did not seem affected by the words. But, then again, there was a lot of things about him that his family could not see. "I will retire. Good day," he answered in staccato notes, leaving them while wafting his handkerchief in the air in a casual manner.

Esmeralda stared after her son, her lips set into a thin line, frowning as a sad expression passed over her features. "Alice is right, dear. You are too harsh with him."

"I am sorry, Esme. But whenever I see how he behaves, I cannot control myself," Carlisle said. "I know I should not be this way. I shouldn't behave so shamelessly. I dishonor myself and—" Esme's finger came to rest on his lips, stopping him from speaking.

"Calm down and then speak with him. I am sure our Edward is in there somewhere, I am sure that he is merely hiding underneath this new persona that he has created."

"I wish that were true, Esme," Carlisle whispered back. He wanted to believe that the Edward he had known, the son he had been so proud of, had not disappeared back in England.

* * *

As the rumors kept rising, Bella grew ever more restless. The nagging question Alice had posed itched at every possible turn.

What had the intruder wanted? Why was he stalking around Wilson's estate?

Later, she found out that someone had ransacked the garrison during the festivities. If her curiosity had sparked before, it was a full flame now.

It was probably the reason she found herself outside of Collins' office that cloudy morning in August, shivering in the dense morning air. A thick mist had dispersed just hours before. Bella had watched it with her own eyes as Hayes came alive, breaking through the night lazily, with little want.

A soldier shoved her into the office. Sgt. Thompson was sitting by a desk just outside the main office. He had fallen asleep and started snoring. In his left hand, there was a bottle of wine, half spilled out onto some of his documents. In his other, there was a half-eaten piece of meat—veal from the looks of it.

"Lo and behold, the Royal Guard's finest," she murmured under her breath. But how could she be angry when the almost angelic features of the fat sergeant softened as he found peace in his sleep. The corporal who had escorted her inside blushed at the sight and proceeded to excuse his superior officer.

"Corporal, do not worry. Don't wake him on my accord," she smiled.

"You do not understand, Miss Swan, sleeping on duty can get a man executed!" he hissed back. Bella looked from the corporal to the sergeant. A silent agreement passed between the two.

She neared Thompson in silent steps, placing a light hand on his shoulder, shaking it gently. "Sergeant," she murmured in his ear. He stirred, a loud snore escaping him. It made the corporal jump in place, staring at the major's closed office door. He hoped Collins had not heard that. Bella's brow furrowed again. "Sergeant!" she said again, more forcefully. She shook his shoulder again, harder. This repeated a third and fourth time until the office door opened, and Collins stepped out.

Bella and the corporal turned to face the major with surprised expressions on their faces—they looked like children caught doing mischief. Their lips were pressed together, and their eyes had widened as they froze in place, waiting for Collins to break the tension.

A loud snore ripped through the awkward moment, making it all the more tense. Collin's steely eyes drifted to the sleeping Thompson and Bella held her breath, waiting for his imminent reaction.

Collins walked painfully slow steps to the desk, taking in the spilled wine and the piece of veal clutched in the massive hand. Thompson appeared to be dreaming for he was now smiling in his sleep.

Collins nodded in a frustrated sort of way. Bella wondered if this had happened before. He sent her a playful glance finally, a charming smile, ensuring her that all was well.

"Atte—ntion!" he exclaimed loudly all of a sudden, dragging out the word. It sent Bella jumping where she stood. The corporal backed somewhat. But Sgt. Thompson reacted the most violently of them all. He flew from his chair, straightening in a millisecond as his right hand flew into a salute—with the meat still clutched in it. He dropped it, falling with an impressive thud onto the desk, sloshing the wine further.

A dead silence followed where Collins looked at Thompson for a full two minutes before speaking. "I hope you have enjoyed your little nap, sergeant, because when I send you out with tonight's patrol, you will regret ever having placed your head on that desk," the major said with a calm voice, laced with patience.

Bella was certain: this had happened before.

Sgt. Thompson turned red, not daring to utter a word, only nodding in reluctance. He stood firm in his salute as Collins escorted Bella into his own office.

"I will apologize on Sgt. Thompson's behalf. No lady should ever have to witness to such a thing," he lamented. He guided her into his office.

"It is quite alright," Bella urged. She was worried Thompson would get into trouble due to her being there. "I was not offended at the sight at all, I swear!" She sat down in the chair across his desk, mimicking him.

Collins smiled. "He was out on a patrol the entire night. I should have allowed him a few more hours of rest before sending him into duty again," Collins chastised himself. "What you witness was my fault."

"So, he will not get into trouble?" Bella dared ask.

"I will not place him in front of a firing squad if that is what you wonder. I am not Captain Forster. If we condemned every man to execution for improper behavior while on duty, this garrison would be empty since long ago."

Her hand went to her chest. "Good to hear," she breathed out.

"But I suspect that is not why you have come to visit me." Did she imagine it or was there a hopeful glint in his eyes?

"No, indeed not Major Collins. I came because of the events that took place at Mr. Wilson's estate about a week ago," she started. The hopeful glint seemed to give way to disappointment.

He nodded. Bella shared her doubts; the abnormality of the entire situation. After having listened to her, a pensive look invaded his features.

"I have found it just as strange, Miss Swan. But I have little to go on at the moment. The best thing I can do now is to wait for him to strike again, and to slip up."

Bella nodded. "But who knows what he might do next, major. This man…" she trailed off. "He took out so many of your soldiers with so little effort." She shivered. Bella was frightened despite herself. That shadow was a danger, a great big danger.

Collins took her hand in his and squeezed it, the touch a bit too familiar. His handsome face was split by the lonesome smile "Fear not, Isabella, I will not let him near you again," he swore.

Her heart should have skipped a beat. But all Bella found was that such close proximity on his behalf was uncomfortable. She blamed it on her inexperience with men. She should consider herself flattered that Collins was showing her such attention.

Bella cleared her voice and soon stood up. "I must leave, there is much to be done today." She walked to the door of his office.

"Miss Swan," he murmured as he came to open it for her. "If you ever have any doubts again, do not hesitate to come to me. Any information is valuable information."

Bella nodded slowly. "I shall, major. Thank you."

* * *

"Edward Cullen."

The name hung in the air amidst a waning tension. Someone shifted, placing their cup of tea on the table next to the sofa. Few spoke of him, of the man who had been dead for almost three hundred years.

A name that had always been said with pride and warmth was now silenced. Edward Cullen was no longer the general who had died for his country. He was a figure in the night, tied to words of rebellion. "Audeamus" echoed wherever he went. And many, while believing in the message he sent, kept silent of their opinions. But word did indeed circulate that the man who had rescued Billy Black was, in fact, the ghost of Edward Cullen. Simmons was no longer the only one to have seen him.

A group of bandits, who kept stealing the coaches transporting people and goods going through Raven's Grove, had one day been delivered to the gates of the garrison, thrown over their horses, their hands tied behind their backs, their mouths gagged silent and _Audeamus_ written on their hides as some type of sick joke.

And people started speaking about the general in hushed voices again, about the man who had, three hundred years earlier led the charge against Victoria Fell—a usurper of the Angloan throne. Edward Cullen had lost his life in a critical battle defending Adelton Hall and Cadherra.

Many started recalling the tragic love story between Edward Cullen and his love. The fact that Bella shared a name with such a woman made her turn heads whenever she walked down the street—as if her name automatically made her the accomplice of the mysterious man.

"It's not him," she murmured, sipping her juice. Alice had, after a while, discovered that Bella was not too fond of tea. She had wordlessly started offering her an alternative instead—curtsey of Little Lucy, who had whispered into her ear.

"Of course it is not him," Rosalie McCarty snickered matter-of-factly next to her husband. "Only a simpleton would think a man has risen from the dead."

"But you have to agree, the notion is interesting—that Edward Cullen should return to the living to exact revenge for the citizens of Hayes. That he fights for the people once more," Jasper said, a fire aglow in his eyes.

"So far, he has fought against the guards, broken out a man from prison and delivered some bandits. He has also only seen it fit to leave silly notes in a language most common folk cannot read," Rosalie continued, ever the voice of reason. Bella felt out of place among the Masens, Hales, and McCartys. But Alice had invited her over for afternoon tea, saving her from having to go to Miss Stanley's soirée.

"But the _common_ folk do understand what that word means. Audeamus is not just some fancy Latin word to them. At least not to the people of Hayes." Bella set down the glass harshly on the lace cloth sprawled over the polished table. She did not take kindly to Rosalie barraging down on the townspeople as if they were inferior somehow.

Edward kept fanning himself, sitting closest to the window in the elegant drawing room. His rogued cheeks were aflush and Bella imagined it was due to the layering of his finely tailored clothes. His nose kept up in the air, the starched cravat almost passing his jaw. He leaned back stiffly, and she wondered if he wore a corset. The mere thought provoked a stifled chuckle and she had to retreat behind her own fan.

But what Bella had not noted during her keen observation, was how his eyes trailed over to her, emerald orbs regarding the fine figure that she cut, sitting straight on the beige futon. His orbs ran down her white, swan-like neck like droplets of water, not able to stop himself from resting on the swell of her bosom that rose and fell with every breath that she took.

He looked away, the fan working harder in his hand.

Alice saw the rays of malice passing from Rosalie to Bella, the firm dislike her sister held for her friend was hard to miss. But Bella hardly seemed affected by the leering look she received from the oldest sister. Emmett whispered something to Rosalie under his breath and the young woman suddenly remembered herself.

The raven-haired young woman decided to jump into action before a decidedly awkward moment grew utterly unbearable. "Who do you think he is?"

It was a good question, a speculation they all had pondered at one time. Hayes and its townspeople kept gossiping about the true identity behind the façade of Edward Cullen and his message of Audeamus.

"Anyone," Emmett spoke. He leaned forward and placed his empty cup on the table. The sheer curtains danced as a breeze drifted into the roof, alleviating the stifling heat inside. "How can we speculate when we have little to go on?" He shifted, his large frame making the crowded sofa he sat on uncomfortable. "If I were to see him fight, I might know at least which class he stems from," he added.

Emmett McCarty enjoyed the art of fighting very much—for he did it for sport. He was well versed in the fencing arts, but as well as boxing. He was a gentleman and only practiced with other gentlemen. But something told Bella that he had fought against all stances in society by the way Rosalie wrinkled her nose.

Delicate eyebrows knitted together as a curious Bella Swan leaned forward. "How?" she asked, keenly interested in hearing his statement on the matter.

Emmett smirked, a most charming trait he held. His hand ran through his cropped hair as he settled back next to Rosalie. "It is very simple, Miss Swan. Fencing is the sport of a gentleman. If he fights recklessly, using a knife as his weapon of choice—or his hands—we might deduce that he has had no training from the masters in Europe. Thus, we could conclude that he is not of upper society, which would rule out a percentage of Hayes: for I believe this man to be from here." It had somehow passed Bella that she had witnessed the fiend using a sword at Wilson's estate. The shock of the moment must have erased that part from her mind.

"Indeed!" Jasper exclaimed, growing more eager by the minute. "Who else but someone from Hayes could have gotten notice of Billy Black's first imprisonment? We did not attract attention until Mr. Johnson came from Safeira."

Emmett gave Jasper a small nod and a wink. "And if the chap favors using a pistol it might be harder. But then the pistol might give away his station. The more intricate the pistol, the richer the man—"

"Or he could have stolen it," Bella smirked. "We are talking about someone who broke into the garrison treasury; no mere thief, Mr. McCarty."

"Then he has already given away something." Emmett shifted his attention to her, waiting for Bella to fill in the missing piece.

"We do not know anything about the man save for him being able to break into the most guarded places in Hayes with little difficulty." She had not noticed how Edward had stopped fanning himself entirely, clinging to every word that she spoke. Alice waited for her friend to continue as well. Both Emmett and Jasper seemed to have spoken of this before because they kept exchanging glances, wondering if she would figure it out.

"A common thief or bandit could not have achieved such a feat." She sprang up, her wide eyes and look of realization making it seem as if a lightbulb had been ignited in her mind. "This man had training!" she exclaimed eagerly.

"Training that might be hard to get just anywhere!" Alice joined in.

Their little game amused some while it bothered others. Rosalie leaned against the sofa next to Emmett, looking rather bored. Edward was in the process of wiping his forehead with his excessively lacy handkerchief. "Which means this man might have traveled."

"But," Bella trailed off. "Are we not over-speculating now? We are grasping at straws." Unbeknownst to her, she had started pacing about the room as she pondered their subject rather imminently.

"The truth is we that know nothing, and we are constructing a case about a man whose face we have not even seen." She turned to them. "A mere semblance of a man…a _shadow._" Bella shivered, cold despite the warmth.

Emmett sighed. "But it is a fun thing, to speculate over this person, do you not agree, Miss Swan?"

Bella blushed that she had been so carried away by what most of them had considered a game. Alice spoke out in her defense. "I do not consider it a game when the presence of that…_thing_ is very real. What are we to do when a supposed dead man is practically insisting that we rise up as a people with propaganda from three centuries ago?"

"Alice, dear, what is there to be afraid of? It is most likely some town fool with extreme luck who happened to be at the right place at the right time." Edward's drawl was drawn out, his nose sticking up in the air.

Alice ignored her brother. "Maybe, Isabella, the next time you see him, you might notice these things we have spoken of."

"I assure you that there will be no next time to speak of!" The young woman shuddered to think it, she had no wish to cross paths with that thing again.

They spoke mostly of Major Collins and what he was doing to remedy the incident. When afternoon pushed into night, it was time for Bella to leave.

She was walked down to the foyer by Alice and Jasper. Joseph stood, waiting with the opened door as a footman had April ready down the stairs.

"Are you sure you will not need an escort home, Miss Swan?" The purple of evening settled as night beckoned. Jasper was uncomfortable letting the young woman get home by herself, especially after the recent occurrences that had hit their sleepy little town.

Her lips stretched over her teeth at his kind gesture. "My house is but fifteen minutes from here. I reckon I shall be fine, Mr. Hale. Besides, with Sgt. Thompson and his able men patrolling the streets we should all feel safe," she chuckled.

"His presence in the streets at night does put my mind to rest," Jasper agreed in an amused tone.

Bella did not wish to have an escort because she was not heading home. She planned to see Little Lucy at The Laughing Goose and then drop by Jacob before heading to the outskirts of town for a late-night ride.

April took her through narrow and desolate streets with lazy strides to the square where The Laughing Goose stood lit, attracting the townsfolk like moths to a flame. She tied April to a post outside and stepped in to be met by jovial laughter, a lonesome guitar playing in the corner and much chatter.

Lucy was serving drinks at the bar and gave one of her customers a hard clap on the back while her hearty laughter rang loudly in the establishment. Bella took in the sight—letting it imprint into her memory. When she was much older, and Hayes might have transformed by the stretch of time, this was the kind of town she wished to remember; the townspeople having a blast as Lucy provided them with mead and wine.

"Miss!" came the burly voice, instantly bringing her attention to the bar. Lucy winked her over.

"I came at the busiest hour, it seems," the young woman said loudly through the chatter while leaning against the bar.

Lucy's harsh features soured as she brushed some escaped blonde hair that had fallen out of her bun and into her flushed face. "Hayes has chosen to remedy her problems with liquor. We've had some busy weeks ever since the death of Ridge," she mumbled—only for Bella's ears.

The young woman's features darkened at the name of Lucas. "Lucy, I need to speak with you," she mumbled.

Lucy wiped the counter absentmindedly, looking at Bella confused. "We're talkin' now, miss," she stated, matter-of-factly.

"Alone," Bella pressed.

Lucy sensed the urgency. The brunette gripped her skirts tightly under her cloak with narrowed eyes and tense jaw. Her shoulders were squared and her stance making her lean forward.

"Follow me," she said as she prompted the young woman to follow her behind her bar, through tight and dim-lit corridors until they walked through a flimsy-looking door and into a small room. The walls were aged wood, the same as the floorboards. A dirty rug covered the center of the room; rectangle in shape and its color long since faded. In the far end was a hastily made bed under a window where now stars shone through, illuminating the room in a faint silver and bluish light. Under the bed she spotted a coffin, no doubt to house Lucy's garments.

Lucy lit an oil lamp and offered Bella a wooden stool to sit on. "These are my lodgings, not much to look at," Lucy began, she shrugged her shoulders and arched her eyebrows. "They're quite shit, actually. But they're a place to sleep, ya know?"

"It's fine, Lucy," Bella urged.

The burly woman placed the lamp in the small window. "What ha ya so riled up now that ya dragged me away from the bar?" she demanded with her charming accent.

Bella did not know where to start. Impulse had urged her to get her friend alone. The mere mention of Lucas' name had spurred into action and no thought had allowed the young woman to control herself.

"I was cleaning Mr. Ridge's lodgings the other day."

Her hand slipped into the folds of her skirts, nimble fingers searching blindly for a folded piece of paper that seemingly had been forgotten; until now. "I found this."

It was merely a slip of paper, but to Bella, it was a source of worry, an omen of sorts. Just like at the Masen's townhouse, she let her mind wander as to what its contents might mean. If Lucy deduced the same, then maybe she wasn't so crazy.

Her fingers itched as the larger woman's pudgy hand snatched it from her grasp and carelessly unfolded it. Lucy could read, she had to know how as the owner of a tavern.

Bella waited with her breath caught in her throat. In the window, the candlelight flickered lazily. Lucy's face was an open book as her features contorted and twisted in what could only be described as confusion laced over with sadness.

Calloused fingers folded the note with great care; like she was holding the most precious treasure in the world. "Ya should not be givin' this note to just anyone, miss."

Then, had her friend realized what that note might hold? "Lucy," Bella started. "Do you think there is something more to it?" She wondered why it was that she had asked Lucy out of all her acquaintances. They held a strange friendship that stretched beyond a simple acquaintance. Perhaps, at the back of her mind, Bella knew Lucy would not laugh at her if her suspicions proved to be mere paranoia on her behalf.

Maybe they were, judging from the arched eyebrow which she received while Lucy's hand rested on the dirty apron that had haplessly been tied about her waist.

"What more could the letter of a poor suicidal man contain?"

"I meant," she licked her lips and ignored the sudden heat that brushed over her. "Do you think it was a suicide?"

Lucy might not possess the finesse to read between the lines. However, the downtrodden look of worry, fear, and paranoia on Bella's face told her that she was asking a rather loaded question. Asking if Lucas Ridge had been murder was enough to stop her in her tracks. Little Lucy was not often left speechless. Yet, Bella Swan had managed to rid her of speech, rendering her mute while she thought her answer out.

Young Swan was fidgety, and she might well be. Asking if someone had been murdered was severe—but even more so when it was asked in Hayes.

Lucy's features darkened. "Be careful now, Bella." She clutched the note in her hand, a simple piece of paper that held more weight in the words written on it.

"I—" she did not continue with her words. It was a question Lucy had not wanted posed to her.

"Ya hide that note now." She pushed it back into Bella's hands, acting as if the innocent piece of paper were made out of boiling oil. "Burn it, cast it in the river, bury it; get _rid_ of it."

Bella's forehead puckered, and she shifted in her stance, leaning away from Lucy. "Do you know something I am not supposed to?"

Lucy's form was suddenly too large, too intimidating in that small room, the wax candle casting grotesque shadows over an otherwise likable and jovially pudgy face.

"I ain't involved, but I know Hayes. Even if the major is here now, it is still dangerous to be askin' these questions, miss. Hide what ya know or suspect. Forget that note and let Ridge be forgotten with it," she cautioned.

"How can you say such a thing? You were acquainted with Mr. Ridge—with Lucas, Lucy! He was our friend, and someone might have—"

"Aye," Luce stepped to her and spoke quickly, hissing under her breath, trying to make Bella see the danger. "Aye, he was my friend, Bella. And, yes, he might have been _murdered_." She spoke the last word in a barely audible whisper, afraid even saying it would end her own life. "And if he was, then rest assured his killer will not want to leave any loose ends. Ya will not go about town and ask anyone else, lest ya have a death wish. Yer puttin' yer own life on the line."

Bella shook her head in anger and disgust. She stepped away from Lucy. The young woman was aghast for she knew her friend spoke the truth. She would be attracting unwanted attention if she kept going around and asking others about the note.

"I know what yer feelin'." Lucy stepped over to her and placed a friendly arm about her shoulder, trying to win the disheartened Bella back to her side. "But we live in difficult times. We best not end up like Mr. Black now. We keep our heads down and our mouths shut. That's how it's always been, that's how it will remain."

Both women saw the flicker of regret in each other's faces. It was not a reality either wished to live in. They both held pride and Bella saw, in the depths of Lucy's black and widening orbs, that she too would have spoken out if circumstances had been different. The tavern owner wanted Bella safe, hoping her words would protect her from going further with her inquiries.

"I should be getting back," Bella said, breaking the silence.

Lucy answered with a mere nod and took her back to the front. The laughter and merry faces did not speak as much to Bella as when she had entered The Laughing Goose. The note, still secure in her pocket, was the only proof she had—a hunch.

As Lucy walked her to April in the darkness of the night, Bella promised herself she would not cast away the message Ridge had left behind. She mounted her mare and rode off into a canter, feeling the eyes of the large woman trained on her back before leaving the square.

She had planned to see Jacob, but after her conversation with Lucy, she needed the feeling of freedom to wash over her. Bella guided April through the dark and desolate streets. Hayes had fallen asleep with the night. The curfew was in place, but after Collins had taken over at the garrison, she did not feel as afraid to break it.

They rode out of town through the northern gate—usually unguarded—heading to the fields of heather that dotted the side of Hayes.

April's canter broke out into a gallop and the rider merged with her step, animal and woman growing into one as the stars shone down with silver streaks. Heather, grass, and dirt was the perfume of the night and it filled Bella's nostrils, expanding her lungs with her deep breaths. She squeezed the reins tighter and urged April to go faster. She needed to get away from Hayes; the politics, the gossip, the mystery.

Chocolate orbs were drawn in by the mystery of the forest. Raven's Grove called out to her. But, for the first time, Bella hesitated. The woods had always been her home and provided a feeling of safety. But after the past few weeks, she did not truly know what lurked between the trees.

She was not an idiot. Riding into the forest at this hour of the night was folly; blatant idiocy. Maybe the shadow wasn't the ghost of Edward Cullen. Maybe he was something worse. Her skin prickled, and her heartbeat rose at an alarming rate as she was reminded of that fateful evening when she had stood face to face with that thing.

Suddenly, she did not feel safe outside of the walls that encircled Hayes. Suddenly, she imagined someone was in the darkness of the woods, watching her, _waiting_ for her. April stopped, sensing her mistress' quick change in demeanor. Her ears flickered as she turned to face the woods. The tree-line was close, darkness seeping out onto the field. Bella strained her eyes, but Raven's Grove swallowed whatever light the stars might provide.

A feeling—something akin to a sixth sense—took hold of her. She could not justify it to herself, but a strange sensation of being watched grew stronger the longer she remained by the heather field. April's ears were upright now, and the mare stood quiet on the spot, listening for something.

The seconds ticked by until a summer breeze rolled across the field, sweeping past Bella, intensifying the waft of the eve.

April neighed. It jolted Bella in her saddle at the sudden sound and she pulled at the reins, but her mare remained glued to the spot. Her limbs grew stiff as a flight or fight instinct settled into the primitive part of her brain. Bella no longer functioned on rational thought. Her brain only knew one thing: she needed to get away from there.

The breeze picked up speed; as if nature sensed her distress and it produced a shiver out of her. Yet, it was not out of cold.

She listened, her eyes trained on the same direction April was facing. The seconds must have grown into minutes until the young woman started relaxing in the saddle. She was about to laugh at her foolish reaction when April neighed again.

And another neigh followed in response. It echoed out through the trees, caught by the summer winds that danced around her.

Her heels dug into April's sides as she pulled at the reins with all her might. April reared at the force of her mistress' command and pulled to the side, setting off in a mad gallop. Bella did not dare to look back, the feeling of being watched had increased tenfold.

When the walls of Hayes approached like a lighthouse directing lost sailors on a stormy sea to safety, she could have sworn that she heard a distant chuckle emerging from the trees.

But maybe it was the wind that taunted her in her escape.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for those who reviewed the last chapter! It was very interesting reading your theories! I hope you will enjoy this chapter as well. :)  
****I wish you a good start to the week!**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	11. Chapter 11

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 11_

The following day Bella Swan found herself on the doorstep of the Black residence. The door was bolted shut from the outside and, looking in through the windows, the young woman noted that the place was swiped clean. Only larger furniture remained.

For all intents and purposes, the family had left its Hayes residence. It was only wanting, she supposed. Billy Black remained a fugitive at large and his son had grown rather disappointed with the town he now resided in. The aunt and cousins must have sought out some relatives, as Jacob had mentioned.

It was more or less the answer she got from one of the neighbors. Mrs. Smith, a petite woman in her late forties and with already graying hair, nodded knowingly. "They left the lot, a few days ago," she stated. "The son in shambles." Mrs. Smith leaned forward and lowered her tone. "But who wouldn't, what with his father's unfortunate run-in with the Royal Guard," the petite woman continued.

Bella knitted her eyebrows. Why hadn't Jacob said anything right before his departure? It appeared he had left Hayes completely without notice. "Where did Jacob go?"

"Oh, he didn't say nothin', but methinks he was done with this town." She nodded knowingly, as if she held the final saying, even though she was obviously only speculating. When Bella was not quick enough to join in on the gossip, Mrs. Smith continued. "Methinks he went to search for his father." She leaned forward with great eagerness, whispering while the pedestrians looked them down. "Maybe to find the man who saved his father as well—they say it was the _ghost of General Cullen_."

The younger woman turned from Mrs. Smith with a sigh and wrinkled her nose. But she did not say anything on the matter. "Thank you for your information, Mrs. Smith," she said with a small bow of the head.

She went back to her house in disappointment. Jacob had quit town without as much as bothering to inform her. Bella did not understand why that irritated her as much as it did.

A part of her thought that, maybe if he had read the note Mr. Ridge had written, he might have believed her—maybe he'd even want to figure out who the possible killer could be.

April took her home and she brushed out the horsehair that had rubbed onto her green riding habit. She felt for leaves or twigs that might have, by some chance, fallen into her hair. Charles Swan would no doubt express his distaste if she wasn't at least presentable. Before climbing the steps up to the elegant mansion, Bella did a final check, making sure there were no visible stains on her habit.

When she was satisfied, she opened the front door and stepped into the neat foyer.

"There she is," a man's voice rumbled, catching her by surprise.

"Miss Swan," a nasal, bothered voice shot through and her dismayed eyes glanced up, already knowing who had spoken before seeing him.

There, by the marble stairs next to her parents, stood the peacock himself; Edward Masen. An arrogant smirk shot her way, the gesture making Bella want to rush for her bedroom before having to endure another minute in his presence. She had not the energy for it today.

"Isabella," Renée rushed over, her voice calm but her features frantic. "Mr. Masen has expressed his wish of taking a stroll with you, on this day of all days!"

Not even Charles Swan appeared thrilled, and his mask was worse crafted than Renée's.

Bella stammered, looking at both her parents. Her eyes finally rested on Edward. His nose was up in the air, the starched cravat in place, the tight velvet coat in a screaming red, and beige breeches with dark-brown boots hurt her eyes. He had frilly lace escaping his left sleeve—no doubt his favorite perfumed handkerchief.

Her stomach dropped as she forced a smile. "How lovely," she lied through her teeth. There was no reason to make a scene before Edward or her parents. However, the young woman was decided to make things rather clear once she was alone with him. "I shall change into something more presentable."

"Indeed, for I could not be seen in the company of such ghastly apparel," he muttered, blotting his nose with the handkerchief. Renée's face reddened at such a remark, but her daughter caught her mother's eye and shook her head discreetly.

"I would not wish to taint your good reputation, Mr. Masen," Bella managed to respond before walking in rushed strides to her room.

"I have acquired a chaperone, Mr. and Mrs. Swan, fear not. Although my good reputation…," she heard the irritating and high nasal voice sound before rounding the corner.

Bella forced the door to her room shut and leaned against it, wondering what she had gotten herself into by accepting his invitation.

* * *

By the front of their house, on the small park leading past the main gate and up to the principal door stood an elegant and polished black vis-à-vis carriage waiting. Two horses in brilliant white with brushed fur snorted in anticipation. Bella instantly recognized Joseph in the driver's seat, looking smart in a tricorne hat to guard him against the harsh rays of the sun.

"Shall we?" Edward Masen turned to her with his arm outstretched for her to grab onto. Bella glanced down at the limb, the brilliant red of his coat screaming at her to run. His green orbs should have instigated a sense of irritation and a feeling of vexation. However, Bella found herself rather surprised when the only feeling coursing through her was genuine curiosity. For indeed, why on earth would Mr. Masen wish to promenade with her? She was not a genuine lady of upper society, she did not frequent all the gatherings, dream of the Safeira or Wessport assemblies or nag constantly to her parents of the upcoming season.

For all intents and purposes, Mr. Masen should have turned his back on her and never looked back. Yet, there was something pulling him to seek her out: and Bella wanted to know why.

She absentmindedly brushed the front of her gown, a redingote in pale blue lined with white lace. She would die before she aimed to match Masen in his horrendous choice of dress. Bella adjusted the straw bonnet and accepted his extended arm, much to the surprise of her parents.

"Lead the way, Mr. Masen," she smiled. A smirk tugged at the end of his lips—of that she was sure. But the arrogant expression remained, plastered on his face as if the expression were permanent.

He led her to the carriage and up the step. Bella settled into the bright beige leather, the cushion of it impressive. It looked new and she wondered where the carriage had come for, it had not been used on her outings with Alice.

Edward huffed as he got up the step. He settled down in front of her and brought the lacey handkerchief to blot his forehead. He signaled for Joseph and they started moving. She was surprised that he did not too wear a hat as she suspected he would not wish for his fair complexion to experiment the tanning capacities of the sun.

But Edward seemed to always have an ace up his sleeve. He opened a small compartment to his left and dug out a black parasol, opening it up and letting it shield him from the bright rays.

Bella could not help a delicate eyebrow rise at the gesture. She brought up her white fan and shielded her face to mask the chuckle that was threatening to break through.

Edward remained silent until they were on their way.

"And where does Mr. Masen plan to take me on this pleasant day?" she asked, settling back in the cushions and for once enjoying the slow pace of the vehicle.

He stared at the fan, moving lazily in her hand, as if he were almost jealous that she had one and he did not. "It has come to my attention that there is a much-celebrated walk going along a small river by the foot of the Durun Mountains here."

"Will the exercise not be too exhausting for you, Mr. Masen?" she leaned forward to ask, mocking great concern as the fan picked up speed. The chestnut curl resting on her left shoulder slumped against her bosom.

Laughter and conversation floated through the air as they moved along Hayes, past the center that was always so alive in the middle of the day. Their carriage attracted quite the attention, something the fop appeared to be quite happy with. "I shall push myself," he drawled absentmindedly. He then turned to her and an expression of discomfort appeared on his features. "I must confess, Miss Swan, that I do not find the situation rather agreeable. Not your company, of course. But, rather, the fact that I must make an effort to move around." His hand moved along with his speech as he tried to further explain the situation. "My father," he drawled in the same arrogant nasal tone, "wishes I were more _active_."

"Ah," Bella cut in, suddenly understanding the situation. "But I should think you are a very active man, Mr. Masen," she spoke with a feigned agreement.

"That is what _I_ tried to explain to him, my dear Miss Swan. You see," he leaned forward, quite taken by his arguments as to why he was an active and sporty man. "I _do_ take part in regular exercise. My every outing," he continued, overtly emphasizing the last word with a dramatic finger in the air, "is exercise enough. Going to and from gatherings and parties quite drains a man." He dotted his nose with the handkerchief.

Bella's fan came up to shield her face so that he might not notice her reddening cheeks while trying to hold down a sigh. Edward Masen was impossible, completely impossible. She felt sorry for the father who had to be at his wit's end, no doubt.

"And being seen with me, walking by the river promenade, might remove your father's irksome comments for a while," she filled in.

Masen bowed his head. "My parents quite like you. I hope you will not find offense in this little arrangement, Miss Swan."

Bella did not in the slightest. She could breathe easier now, knowing that Mr. Masen was not showing an interest in her as a person—rather, he was merely using her presence as a way to escape his father's ire. It was sad, downright pathetic in her eyes. But she found his company so amusing that she did not mind being with him for an afternoon. The young woman reasoned that she needed to be in the mindless company of someone like Edward after all the heavy and dreadful occurrences that seemed to have found their way into her life. Strolling along a promenade with an absentminded fellow like Edward Masen might help her remove herself from reality, even if for a little while. She would not openly proclaim that she was using him as much as he was her.

"I do not take offense, Mr. Masen."

He slapped his knee in a silly manner. "Capital!" Edward exclaimed as they passed the low outer wall of Hayes. The thick stone valve blocked out the sun for a second and the temperature dropped in the shade.

She wondered, however, what they would speak of. Would it be a strange promenade where none would say a word? Or would he occupy the walk by saying nothing but things of himself?

It appeared not.

As they arrived at the foot of the mountains, just under Adelton Hall, the castle of the Count of Cadherra, they disembarked the comfortable carriage and continued on foot. Bella picked up her dress as they strolled down some stone steps until arriving at the walk.

The stream was a few feet wide and one side, a path had been etched out in the greenery for them to walk along. Tall trees in all shapes and sizes towered above them, the roof of the forest shielding them from the sun. Edward had thus left his parasol back in the carriage as they walked.

At first, they remained silent and Bella took in the surroundings, lavishing in the presence of nature, in the music it provided; birdsong, running water pooling next to them, grasshoppers running about and grass and trees dancing in a gentle breeze that stirred the scent out of the greenery. She would not expect Masen to understand, but as she looked over at him, Bella found that he too stared at the idyllic picture of perfect nature in silent contemplation.

He soon spoke, asking her questions she never expected him to ask. He inquired after her parent's health, how Hayes had been like growing up as a child, what she did when she wasn't at Jessica Stanley's or with his sister. The questions he posed were always followed by other, more detailed; for he listened, generally intrigued by her answers. However, Bella was careful in giving away too much of what she did in her free time. She did, for example, not tell him how she would escape to Raven's Grove with April and soak up the freedom nature offered her. Instead, that part was replaced with 'taking strolls in the garden' or 'reading', which wasn't entirely a lie.

"Do you have any other acquaintances in town?" he asked, walking with his hands behind his back in a casual manner.

Bella would not tell him of Little Lucy. "I have some friends. Sgt. Thompson has become a rather good acquaintance since he has practically fallen in love with our cook's meat pies," she laughed. She remembered herself—the carelessness of her laughter—and quickly reprimanded the action and once more gathering herself before him.

"I was, or rather my family, was good friends with Mr. Ridge." Bella did not know what had prompted her to speak of a dead man. Maybe the fact that she had been thinking of him as of late. She grew somber at the very thought of him.

Masen nodded in comprehension. "A tragedy, the whole affair." His voice had lost its arrogant drawl. While the nasality was always there, it seemed to her he genuinely meant what he said.

"Indeed."

"I heard there are new tenants who are to move into his lodgings any day now," he stated. "I wonder who emptied out the chambers, or if the tenants are to keep his possessions. I heard Mr. Ridge did not have an extensive family."

Bella shook her head. "He did not. I took it upon myself to remove most of his possessions from his lodgings some week ago," she sighed. Her eyes trailed the ground where she stepped. "I left the furniture, for I could not carry it out by myself. But most of his books I had donated to a public library in Coldwick."

Silence followed her statement. Bella wondered if he saw her action as futile, silly nonsense.

"An admirable act, Miss Swan." Edward Masen sounded impressed—or maybe it was merely her imagination. "Did you really do it all by yourself?" he wondered.

"Well, Mr. Ridge's maid, Miss Haste, was there as well, but she could not bring herself to pack up his worldly belongings, so I took charge. He did not have much." She stopped and directed her gaze at Edward. "But I felt it an affront to the man I considered as an uncle not to have his final affairs taken care of."

He nodded. It was as if the final part of the conversation had removed a layer between the two. They were like onions slowly being peeled. He looked at the sky, the pinkish tone giving away the late hour. "Shall we return, miss? I think twilight is upon us, or it shall soon be."

The trees rustled once more in pace with the rushing water of the stream. Other late afternoon strollers had started heading back for their carriages as well. Bella remembered the occurrence from the other night—the feeling of being watched, the chuckles emerging like an echo from Raven's Grove. A shiver brushed her spine and she hastily nodded, turning back with him.

In the light of day, the woods did not frighten her. But as soon as the sun settled, and the moon and stars brightened up the sky with their silver sheen, it was transformed into something unknown; invoking a sense of unease, a sense that it hid something from her.

* * *

"I never thought, that out of all these people, it would be Mrs. McCarty who would extend an invite!" Charles Swan was running around in the room with a giddy smile plastered on his face.

Their carriage was being prepared. Renée and Isabella Swan dressed in exquisite attire for the evening soirée. Bella herself had thought her eyes would pop out of her skull as she had read the elegant invite sent by Rosalie to their front door a couple of days prior. She had asked they attend a close-knit gathering at the Masens'.

Her parents had been ecstatic. The fact that Rosalie McCarty had chosen to invite them showed their status was being more and more accepted in society.

But Bella did not really give it much thought. What had drawn her in was that Major Collins would attend as well. She held a friendly affection for the gentleman and had not seen him for the past few days. Major Collins had been rather busy running his garrison, trying to keep some of his soldiers in check. Rumors had sparked when the major had sent some soldiers on their way to the Wessport garrison for disciplinary action.

Her parents had indeed first wondered how it was that Rosalie might have been the one to extend them an invitation. But ever since Edward Masen had taken a promenade with her by the small river, they would give each other knowing nods. Young Miss Swan herself pondered the thought: had Edward taken to her? Maybe her presence was there for Carlisle Masen to see that Edward kept ties with her.

Bella found it rather agreeable, not at all insulting that the peacock should use her. Rather, she found the whole situation quite amusing. She wanted to see how it would play out.

She had rushed up to her rooms with Lorraine for a final touch-up of her hair in front of the mirror. Her jewelry box was wide open, and she promptly closed it—the thing barely sporting three pieces of jewelry. It was a rare thing, that Miss Swan should wear rubies or pearls. She did not take to it.

Their carriage ride was as uncomfortable as always and Charles Swan swore under his breath that the next thing to be invested in would indeed be a new carriage. One as elegant as the vis-à-vis vehicle Edward Masen had arrived in a few days prior.

Stepping into the Masen townhouse was like stepping into just another party, only this was definitely more lavish. However, Bella saw the same faces from town as always; the Stanleys, the Wenns, the Webbers, the Moores, the Copes, Mr. Wilson, and so on.

But wherever she turned, Bella was astonished by the bright flickering of wax candles, the elegant chandeliers, the dress of the people, the small live orchestra playing in one of the rooms. Port, Madeira, and other wines flowed like water.

Mrs. Hale had found Bella before she could even think to look for her. "Miss Swan! Come see the quartet that is being played!" Bella excused herself to her parents before following the excited young woman. Her swirling gown led the way as she pushed through groups of perfumed people.

They arrived at the room where music stemmed from and a wave of stifling heat washed over Bella. Although the windows had been prompted open for the fresh night air to seep in, the general exercise of dancing managed to outpace the fresh air seeping in.

There, in the row of dancing people, was Major Collins in the fold of Jessica Stanley's arm. Bella's eyebrows knitted together, and something tugged at her. She sensed a feeling of unease and irritation wash over her. Why was she acting like this? It was almost as if she were…_jealous_. But that could not be! She chastised herself until her alert chocolate orbs collided with the smug smirk of Alice's.

"I thought you might find the situation unfortunate." Alice dragged her further into the room. "Your dance card is empty, Bella. You must make yourself available so that Collins may ask you for the next dance!" she urged in a high voice, trying to speak over the bright music playing in a quick rhythm.

Bella's head turned back to the laughing Jessica and her mouth turned down in a frown. "Do not worry yourself so with me, Alice. I shall be fine." She had no wish to see Collins _happy_ and smiling with Miss Stanley.

"Shall we not walk out to enjoy the fresh air?" she asked instead. Bella wanted to get away from the throng and Alice's smug smirk washed away to a knowing sigh spreading over her features.

She took her friend's arm in her own. "Very well," Alice sighed.

They stepped to one of the tall French doors and let the cool wind refresh them. Hayes was otherwise quiet, as sleepy as it had always been.

"Where might your brother be?" Bella asked. She had not heard or seen anything from Mr. Masen ever since he had taken her to the river.

Alice shifted next to her, her eyes drifting to the crescent moon. She was hesitant in speaking, but seemed to lose it, probably considering Alice had grown to trust Bella Swan over the last months since her arrival.

"My brother…" she trailed off, trying to find the words. "Papa has prohibited him from attending." Alice's nose wrinkled.

"Why ever would he do such a thing?" Bella's eyebrows arched in a questioning manner as she turned to fully face her friend.

"This whole party was his idea, you know?" The young woman's shoulders sank. "He got Rosalie in on it, soon we were all planning it together, even papa seemed for the idea. But you know how Edward is."

Bella now wondered what the man might have done for Carlisle Masen to cast such repercussions over him.

"My father wasn't in his full right either," Alice continued, trying to tell the news from another angle. "For the past few weeks, he has tried to have Edward be more active. He has even urged that Mr. McCarty teach him the proper etiquette of fencing."

Bella snorted and quickly put her hand over her mouth. "I did not mean to—" she stammered, aghast at her own reaction.

Alice shook her head. "I reacted the same way," she comforted her friend. "You can imagine how my brother was not entirely for the idea. But he did as father bade. Emmett and Edward sparred once, and my brother never picked up the sword again. I have never seen anyone as clumsy!" Alice was beyond frustrated. "And he thought he could remedy the whole fiasco. So, he went to you, as publicly as he could—taking our best carriage—and took you on a promenade."

"I know," Bella added. "I was there, remember?"

"Of course," Alice sighed. "But, well, how shall I put this delicately…my parents are quite taken with you." She blushed, which caused Bella's cheeks to redden as well. "And I think, when papa heard Edward was taking you for a stroll, he was aglow with joy."

Bella now wondered where it had all gone wrong.

"When Edward returned home, the following afternoon he managed to slip up and unknowingly gave away the true reason for asking you for an afternoon stroll. Papa was furious. "Alice's voice now trembled, as if she were recalling the scene. Her hands turned into fists. "With reason." Her golden eyes found her friend's and a look of remorse, shame and sadness became apparent in them. "If you were not aware of this before, then forgive me for so bluntly revealing it now. But my brother used you to get papa off his back, and such an act cannot be forgiven."

Music seeped out on the balcony, the jolly tune not agreeing with the tone of their conversation. Bella had never seen Alice so apologetic before.

"I knew." She faced the darkness of the night, her profile half illuminated by the wax candles lighting up the interior of the Masen estate. She should have been ashamed to confess such a thing. But she could not let Edward fall in the eyes of his sister for an act she had been fully content to play a part in. She turned to fully face Alice. "I was made aware from the very start, Alice. He…gave me the choice to return to my parents, to cast him aside. Your brother knew very well that what he was doing was wrong."

For a while, Alice had to let the words sink in, not quite sure she was hearing right. "You knew?" she repeated dumbfounded.

"There was never any insult to my person." She stepped up and took Alice's hands in her own. "Your brother is…peculiar, to say the least. But he lacks no honor. He was truthful from the start. You should make that aware to your father."

Alice's mouth trembled. The revelation had lifted a weight off her shoulders. "I wonder how papa will react," she managed to laugh, finding the sudden shift in emotion strange.

Bella joined in on the awkward laughter. "I imagine he will not make sense of it. Let the party pass and then speak with him. Lord Masen is a reasonable man," she said. Indeed, he was. Bella always saw Carlisle as someone keeping a cool and level head. But she suspected having a son like Edward might throw off the most patient man, like Carlisle.

They drifted back into the party, Bella mingled the eve, not catching sight of Collins until later.

"At last I find you, Miss Swan," came a smooth voice behind her as she was speaking with Angela Webber. Angela quickly curtsied, drifting away, displaying the same shyness as her father.

Bella turned with an arched eyebrow. "Major Collins, one might think you would remain on the dancefloor the rest of the night," she said dryly, a forced smile plastered on her face.

He did not seem to see the sarcasm lurking beneath the surface. "How fair your parents?" A question of politeness in the circles she frequented.

"Very well, major. I am surprised you have not happened upon them this eve." She sipped some port.

"I am afraid I have been tied down to the dance floor." He leaned forward. "By a rather forceful young lady." His eyes were widened, and the haunting look of fear presented itself in his etched-out jaw as it grew stiff and his brow furrowed. Bella stared at him in confusion when his lips spread, and she caught whiff of the joke. "Against my will, I must confess."

His words provoked a laugh in her. "But you managed to escape, it seems," she pointed out. She should have known. Collins was as eligible as Edward. But he was far more appealing than the dandy. Other ladies there present would have realized the same as she had.

"How can I call myself a military man if I cannot even execute a plan of escape—from a young lady no less!" he exclaimed.

"Hush or she will hear you!" Bella reprimanded.

Collins broke out into a chuckle. "Miss Stanley seems far too occupied speaking with Mrs. McCarty to notice anything else." Bella followed his stare and found Jessica Stanley, engaged in a one-sided conversation with what seemed like a distressed Rosalie, looking like she wanted nothing more than to get away from the irksome young lady.

"I am glad to find myself in rather pleasant company," Collins dared. His statement was so bold that it provoked an unwanted blush in Bella and she had to turn away.

"Major Collins," she mumbled to him as if to reprimand him.

Gentle eyes found hers and Bella stared into them, finding nothing to happen within her chest, for they were merely the eyes of yet another man who's fancy she'd caught. Bella shivered internally, where was that deep affection Alice had spoken of? Was it, maybe, hidden? Maybe it was there, only obscured by the glass of port she'd been sipping on.

The rest of the night she spent by Collin's side. But Bella found no joy in it anymore. A great fear now settled within her—a fear that she held no affection for him, no discernable emotion or interest. The only emotion he had provoked in her was jealousy. It was not something she wished to experience again.

Alice caught sight of her distressed state when she was listening to Miss Stanley blabber about the latest fashions of London and Paris.

She wanted to rush for her friend but dismayed as Bella walked away. She was escorted by her father and mother and they all journeyed home in the carriage. Renée could not stop commenting on how interested Major Collins seemed in Bella—an act which was usually reserved for her father. Charles Swan remained quiet as he stared at his daughter.

Lorraine was there when Bella returned, and they entered her room as she started helping her out of the irksome gown that had stifled her the eve. Sara had turned in for the night.

She sat before the mirror as Lorraine removed the pins from her hair. Bella stared emptily at her own reflection when chocolate eyes wandered to the side of the white table.

"Lorraine," she asked, absent-minded. "Did you remove my jewelry box to stand by the window?"

It was a strange occurrence for Lorraine was very adamant of never touching the box with precious jewels. At her previous stations, she had gotten in trouble for even looking at similar things and made sure never to go close to Bella's precious possessions. Bella did not mind much, and she trusted in Lorraine. Which was why she found her moving the box—even touching it—strange.

Lorraine stuttered in defense. "N-no, miss, I can assure you I have not been in your room since you left, Dory can attest to my whereabouts!"

"Calm yourself, I am not accusing you of any crime," Bella said. "But if you did not move it, then who did?"

Lorraine looked at the box with newfound curiosity now that she was cleared from any misconduct. "No one has entered your room to my knowledge."

Bella shook her head vigorously as her lips pressed together. "Maybe I moved it myself before leaving for the carriage." It was not possible for she had not done it. But she needed some sort of reasonable explanation both for herself and Lorraine.

She was helped into her nightgown and settled into bed. Bella was not truly tired when her head hit her pillow and she twisted and turned several times until finally finding a somewhat comfortable position to sleep in. Her hand found the small pocket of her nightdress and clutched Ridge's note.

Under the thick covers—despite the warmth of a summer's eve—Bella suddenly noted the chill present in the room. She lay still in silent contemplation wondering why it felt as if a draft had come over her.

Suddenly she froze when her window creaked slightly.

All was quiet: too quiet.

She fervently searched within her mind, trying to recall her or Lorraine opening the window before she had gone to bed. But such a thing had not transpired. Bella felt her mouth dry up and she had to control every microscopic part of her body, every cell, from not moving.

The hairs on her arms stood up and a chill drifted down her spine.

A soft thud—barely audible—sounded. She probably wouldn't have noticed it had she not strained her ears. Bella focused, trying to listen for something else when she came to the horrid realization.

Someone was in that room with her.

* * *

**A/N: Another chapter for you, Happy Easter!**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	12. Chapter 12

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 12_

Lying still, trying to feign sleep, is a hard thing. The human body is not apt for such a feat when every muscle is fighting to flee. For that was what Bella wished to do more than anything else—to flee from her room.

She sensed the presence and she knew she would have to act soon. Her back was turned away from the window where the noise had emerged. The only present sound was now the flapping of curtains, dragged heavy by the wind, the iridescent moon peeking through skirmish clouds; its crescent shape partly reflecting in the mirror that stood on her dressing table across the room. Something else contrasted in the reflection: a shadow darker than the blackest night.

The gulp must have been audible for Bella swore it stopped in its tracks. Her eyes drifted to the nightstand table and to the porcelain vase, painted with swirls of Prussian blue, sitting there with a single red rose, soaking up the stale water with some petals already fallen.

Her hand reached for it before she herself could react. With an impressive force, Bella darted up, her fragile weapon in hand, her knees week and shaking, but her mind determined. She would not give up without a fight.

Her movement might have been swift—even graceful—if it were not for the fact that her feet got twisted in the sheets; the _damned_ sheets. Bella turned to face the shadow, hovering for an instance upright on her bed, her hand clutching the vase high above her head before haplessly falling backward.

Head first she tumbled against the floor, the rug and fallen pillows cushioned her fall, but she still uttered a hard _ouf!_ as her feet remained twisted in the linen on the bed.

Bella wasted no time in trying to figure out her confused state and wrestled with the long material of her nightgown before struggling to stand, the whole left side of her gown completely soaked from the stale rosewater.

The shadow had not moved a single inch, its head slightly tilted as it regarded her with what she could only guess was silent contemplation.

The young woman took a step back, her naked feet touching the bare floor—the sudden shift in temperature sending a jolt through her limbs.

"W-who are you?" she demanded in a trembling voice.

The figure stood as immobile as before. She wondered what went through its mind—if it even had a mind. One thing she was certain about; the shadow had not expected to be caught by her.

It did not speak—or was not able to utter any kind of sound. The clouds parted in the night sky and let strong silver lights penetrate into her chamber. She saw the familiar shadow once more but could not manage to utter a shriek.

It was the same thing that had crashed Wilson's party in the wee hours of morning some week ago.

Only one name, a word, came to mind. Two syllables, rough and sharp against the roll of her tongue as she worked the dry muscle to speak the word against her better judgment.

"Cullen?" she asked in confusion. Weeks of speculation had rendered the possibility strangely reasonable in the depth of her mind, even though she would never admit it. First Mr. Simmons, then her own run-in with the rogue, the wagging tongues—why not Cullen? What other explanation was there?

Her mind was clouded against better reason. In any other situation, Bella would have shaken the thought away before it even began rooting between her synapses. She would have laughed at her foolish innocence and strived to find a logical solution.

Her brain, however, did not seem to work all that well under stress. The only answer it gave her as she fervently clawed for help was 'Cullen'—thus she spoke the only thing making sense to her.

A deep chuckle rumbled, low, vibrating and almost _decadent_, she thought. It sent a jolt shocking her, the vase still clutched in her hand. Bella could not ignore how that chuckle was too careless, too comfortable while she, on the other hand, felt like a mouse caught in a trap, ready to meet her maker.

"At your service," the voice spoke with a soft bow of its head. Bella had never had any preconceived notion of what the shadow was supposed to sound like for she had never imagined she would be in such a situation. However, the deep, rich and velvety tone stemming from its lips was not it. The tone was too _inviting_. It almost lured her like the moth to a flame.

"C-Cullen?" Bella could not help but say again, finally processing the three words which he—_it_ had spoken.

A black limb came up and she imagined it was his hand, reaching in the darkness as the shadow shifted its weight. It almost looked like it was pensively stroking its chin. Another deep chuckle rumbled as the shadow moved in place. Each movement so graceful, calculated.

Bella's mind started fumbling in the dark, the clouds parting evermore as more light worked its way into her chambers. Something was awfully familiar. The intensity of the voice was new, the mocking undertone, the hint of sarcasm intensified—but something about this thing…man—it rang a strange bell in her head that she had met this shadow before. Not at Wilson's estate, much before that.

And then she realized she was in the presence of a man who hid his face. Something quite alarming that her brain had not processed until now.

The vase rose higher.

"Be gone or I—" But she stopped herself short at the grin, the low and mocking laughter. She shook at the sound of the same rich and velvety voice, like amber honey running slowly; so sweet, so inviting. Bella's brows knitted together, almost taking offense that he was seemingly not taking the situation as seriously as her.

In any other circumstance, she would no longer have been frightened of this man, merely annoyed. Maybe she would even have walked over to him, if he had not moved forward first, finally stepping out of the dark shadows so that she might see who hid within them.

The silver moon shone down on his tall form. And Bella then noted how tall this man really was. Her eyes darted to the first place anyone would have looked. Sheer curiosity demanded that she find out what his face looked like. Alas, there was no luck in that department. It was obscured by something very dark. Yet, she could still see the outline of his lips, part of his chin and some of his jaw—a very sharp and squared jaw.

The bastard was smirking as if he amusedly awaited her to fully examine him with her eyes from top to toe.

Bella grew alarmed again at the fact that he was wearing a mask. He dressed in a quite neutral style, yet the cut of his shirt was outdated; by several centuries. It looked like it had been taken straight out from a chivalrous novel of old if she didn't know any better. He wore riding boots ending just below his knee in the blackest leather, that had somehow not managed to squeak a sound.

She rose the vase at arm's length, the weak porcelain a shift-make weapon that would offer no protection if he decided to attack. As soon as the thought of a weapon crossed her mind, she remembered the conversation at the Masens. The kind of weapon he wore would reveal a little bit more about him. Alas, she found nothing tied to his hip, nor any sign of a hilt tucked into his boot. Not even a pistol. Who on earth entered people's houses or garrisons in the dead of night unarmed?

But Bella knew well who he resembled, with some minor tweaks, of course. The man before her, standing in the pale light of a crescent moon looked very much like the statue of General Edward Cullen that graced the old square.

Her brows knitted together, still mindful of him, keeping her distance, her eyes constantly darting to the door behind her. "A scream, sir, and the whole household will be here within the second!" she threatened with a hint of fear to her voice.

The threat, however, went completely past him. He waved his hand casually in the air as he started pacing to and fro' before her. "Oh, have we gone to _sir_ now?" he continued with a dark voice, the undertone of amusement never completely leaving it.

Bella could not believe the impudence of him. "How dare you, si—" she stopped herself, a blush creeping up her face slowly.

"See, it comes naturally to you," he smirked. But while his air was casual, Bella still sensed an undertone of danger. He looked dangerous, a man best not meddled with. He had, after all, broken out a man twice from the garrison. And he had singlehandedly gotten in and out of Wilson's estate without as much as a scratch.

"Why are you here?" Bella demanded with more authority to her words.

He started walking toward her, the steps as silent as before. Bella wanted to sprint for the door the more he neared, his figure menacing, imposing. This was a man she should fear; dressed like the devil himself.

But still his imposing figure cut through the silver beams of the moon, his boots' tapping sound muffled by the rug as he walked over it. Bella shifted and backed, wanting to get away from him.

"You were not supposed to know," he mumbled as he got closer and closer. "But it cannot be helped," the dark voice whispered. It was as if he was muttering to himself. He stood before her, close now and Bella had completely frozen in place. She did not see his eyes, the shadows shielding them from insight. He was close enough for her to reach out and touch him. She practically felt the heat that radiated from his body.

This man was no ghost, he was very real.

"You have something I need." The sentence caused her skin to prickle and her heartbeat to fasten drastically.

He smelled of the forest, of sandalwood and pine.

"_Why_ are you here?" she demanded while he approached her more. "I swear I will scream if you take another step!" Panic had now fully bloomed out when she realized how near he truly was to her. She wondered if the porcelain would break under the pressure of her clutching hand.

"Your threats are empty to me. You would already have screamed, yet something stops you from doing so," he continued in his dark and delicious voice. Another step brought him closer. She felt the faint exhalations of his breath touch her brow now.

Bella wanted to prove him wrong just for the sake of it. She would ignore the consequences, the mere fact that there was yet more to be gained from a conversation with this man—like the true face hiding behind that mask. She started taking a deep breath, preparing for an earthshattering shriek that would be powerful enough to wake the entire town.

Before she could release her yell, however, he spoke a single word that immediately silenced her.

"Ridge," the shadow said calmly.

Bella's mouth swiftly shut as she stared at him. He regarded her as if waiting for her to speak first. What did this man know of Lucas Ridge? What had she stumbled into that she had a three-hundred-year-old deceased general enter her room in the dead of night? She slowly parted her lips, dry and cracked, to ask him when a loud bang sounded on the door.

"Miss Swan?" It was Sara and Lorraine. She turned to the source of the sound. "Miss Swan, Glenn heard you shriek but a few moments ago. Is everything alright?" asked a jittery Lorraine as she started turning the handle.

Her heart jumped up to her throat. How on earth would she explain the presence of that man in her chambers? What would her parents say if Lorraine or Sara told them?

The young woman turned around with panic manifesting in her eyes. Blasted man for putting her into such a situation! But when she turned to face him, he was gone; disappeared like dust in the wind.

Her brow furrowed as she searched her room with keen eyes. The door opened behind her and the maids rushed in, followed by two footmen and a page.

Bella turned around and saw their curious faces eyeing her. She took in her disheveled state. Her nightgown was still soaked to the point where it was almost see-through. Lorraine quickly covered her up. Bella blushed madly as she realized that man had seen more of her than she would have liked.

"What happened?" Sara asked as she took in the pillows and sheets tumbled over the bed, the vase in her hand with the rose thrown to the side.

"Nightmare!" Bella uttered while her blush grew redder and redder. "I…I reached for the vase and fell to the floor and got twisted in the sheets."

She gritted her teeth at having to come up with such a lie—a lie that made her look clumsy nonetheless.

Relief flooded their faces. "We thought someone had broken into your room!" Lorraine exclaimed as she pointed at the open window. "Ever since you mentioned that jewelry box, I couldn't sleep easy."

"Do not worry so, Lorraine. No one was in this room with me," Bella smiled, trying to calm her friend. She had no idea why she was covering for that man. But she knew she needed to speak with him again. He had said Ridge's name with the clear intention of delving further into his mysterious suicide.

* * *

A few days passed with thunderstorms raging in the countryside. Bella could not stop thinking of that man who had so carelessly entered her bedroom. She kept blushing when she thought how much he had seen of her.

But one thing was certain, he knew something about Ridge. And she needed to know what that was.

She ran over everything she remembered about the masked man. His height, his build, his voice. She tried to compare it to other men in town but found very few who fit his description. If she could gather more information on him, it might paint a clearer picture.

Reports started rolling in those days of more bandit attacks in the woods. The townspeople of Hayes had stormed to Collins, now desperate. Many had lost significant parts of their merchandise, their livelihoods and would do almost anything for him to help them. They would even pay more taxes, so more soldiers could be sent to their town.

Collins did not know what to do. He had no idea where the source for these attacks was from, was what he told his closest men. They had not the resources to fight this threat.

Bella had ventured into town, thinking to look for Sgt. Thompson. She knew she could coax answers from him when Collins' mouth remained closed to her, despite trying to charm the major. However, with the promise of some bottles of port and a basket of meat pies, Bella knew Thompson would open up like the gossiping ladies in Hayes.

The Laughing Goose was as busy as ever. For, indeed, here people of all corners of society frequented with social acceptance. Even Bella could venture there without too much scrutiny. Today, a sunny mid-morning, the tavern held its usual patrons—Thompson being one of them.

Bella stepped in and was greeted with the burly laughter of the sergeant. A lonesome guitar played by the void fireplace, the tune fleeting as the player strummed the strings in a distant Iberian song.

Bella saw Thompson sitting in the far corner of the dining area, just under the brass chandelier, by the stairs going up to the second floors housing all the bedrooms that were for rent.

Her brows, however, knitted together in confusion that transformed into surprise as she caught sight of a man she thought she'd never see at the tavern.

Edward Masen looked out of place so well dressed, with white silly lace on his cuffs peeking out from a baby blue suit jacket lined in white thread. Matching blue breeches and polished black boots with a brown rim finished off the outfit. A hat was placed on the table next to two bottles of wine, one of them already empty. Masen held a glass of wine in his hands, still full, the liquid never traveling to his lips. Sgt. Thompson, however, was red in the face, taking a swig of his cup, downing its contents in two gulps.

"One more, eh?" he hickuped. Masen smiled a charming smile and poured another bottle for the drunk sergeant.

Bella's mouth fell agape, and she blushed while trying to stifle a laugh at the strange scene.

"What it the world…" she mumbled.

"That's what I was sayin'," came the dark and robust tone of Little Lucy as she walked past her with some folded napkins and a few more bottles of wine tucked under her thick arm as she went for the bar.

"Lucy," Bella hissed, trailing behind her in rushed steps. "What on earth is _Mr. Masen _doing here, and with Sgt. Thompson?" She had to know, her curiosity wouldn't have it any other way. Masen did not frequent establishments like The Laughing Goose. She knew he would think them far too beneath him. Yet here she saw him, and in the company of Thompson.

"Hell if I should know, girl," Lucy chuckled back. "But he paid the entirety of Sgt. Thompson's long tab. And I ain't sayin' no to that." She started wiping some claret glasses reserved for her finer guests as some more patrons wandered into the bar.

Bella turned back to the two men and squinted eyes at them. It was at that moment that Sgt. Thompson caught sight of her and waved a big hand her way, causing Masen to turn around.

"Mish Swan!" the sergeant shouted at her in a slurring voice. "Come join us!"

She saw Masen dot his nose with the usual handkerchief, his face powdered, but his posture more relaxed than usual. Bella tapped the countertop with her nails as she gritted her teeth. What would it mean if she sat down with the two men?

"Oh, join 'em, Miss Swan," Lucy urged her on.

"But Lucy—" Bella turned around.

The big woman stopped wiping glasses, serving some mead to a gentleman just walked in. "Ya did not come here to sit and watch me wipe the countertop, did ya now?" she leaned in and whispered under her breath with glistening eyes. "Maybe ya will get yer information with Masen there as well," she blinked. It was not a secret to Lucy why Bella spent time with the burly sergeant. Get him what he wanted, manipulate the situation a little and he would spill information like a waterfall.

Bella looked to see Thompson still smiling her way. She stopped drumming her nails against the countertop and ventured their way.

"Gentlemen," Bella Swan smiled as she walked up to them.

Edward got up and immediately bowed over her hand in a greeting. Sgt. Thompson was about to do the same but shook his head and uttered a small "No," as he realized he had too much alcohol in his system. Edward pulled out a chair for her and Bella sat down, pleasantly surprised at his gallantry.

"What brings you here, Miss Swan?" Edward asked as Thompson sipped his wine now that she was present. It would not do to chug the alcohol in the presence of a lady.

She motioned to Lucy. "I regularly come to visit Little Lucy here, for she is a long-time friend of mine," Bella smiled. She did not feel shame at keeping such an acquaintance. All in Hayes adored Lucy and her tavern. And Mr. Masen did not look ready to produce any insult her way.

Bella turned the questioning around. "What brings you here, Mr. Masen?" she asked with genuine interest.

Edward blotted his nose and inclined his head toward Thompson. "Why the sergeant was telling me tales of a soldier's life and I confess he had me much intrigued," Masen chuckled. "So I asked him to tell me more over a glass of wine."

"_One_ glass, or several?" Bella leaned on to whisper as a smirk stretched across her lips.

Something tugged at the corner of his lips, but it never bloomed into a full smile. "I might have underestimated the sergeant's thirst for wine," he admitted.

"I never knew…Mr. Mashen to be so…generous," Thompson slurred further.

"Indeed, most of us did not, sergeant," Bella chimed in. She turned to Sgt. Thompson. "But how goes a soldier's life these days?" she asked. "It must be quite exciting with all the bandits and what not."

Thompson nodded with huge eyes, completely unaware of the territory they were delving into. "Yesh," he managed. He took a swig, losing his manners in front of Bella. "But fear not, mishh, these…these bandits will not touch…Hayes as long as Thompson guards her!" His glass was elevated into the air as he stared off into the distance.

"How brave of you!" Bella agreed, acting mesmerized. "I feel safer already."

"The sergeant told me, just before you arrived, that he singlehandedly fought one of the bandits that have been pestering the road leading from Sorossa through Raven's Grove," Edward added. "A most glorious battle it was, I believe he said."

"I fought…with three men, defen…defenden…_defending_ myself…with nothing but my sword," Thompson stated.

"Oh my," Bella added.

Edward turned to face her, his emerald eyes squinting at the edges. "My reaction precisely, Miss Swan. Thank God we have men like Sgt. Thompson to defend us." The soldier did not note the small hint of sarcasm lacing Masen's voice.

He turned to the sergeant. Edward discreetly put the half-full wine bottle on the floor so that Thompson would not reach for it and get drunker. "But tell me, sergeant, what happened to these bandits that you so bravely fought?" he wondered.

"They're in the confinmts…conminfem…comfiniminitms—" he struggled to say the word.

"Confinements?" Bella filled in.

His dulled eyes smiled back at her. "Y…yesh, confininiminents," he continued, still not able to say the word correctly. "Garrison!" Thompson finally shouted. It was apparent to anyone who saw that Thompson had drunk more than he could handle. Bella had never remembered seeing him in such a state and she started growing nervous. Why would he get this intoxicated?

"How intriguing," Bella added.

"I suppose Collins will want to interrogate them, so that we may rid Raven's Grove completely from these pesky bandits."

"The major—" a hiccup stopped Thompson, the hiccup followed by a restrained burp. "The major has gone to Coldwick pershonally to get a…ma…magistrate to join in the trial…he said that…I would…be…in…charge…great…responsibil…ity."

Thompson's eyelids grew heavier and heavier. In the course of a few minutes, he had rested his head on the table. A few moments later a snore now rocked the entire room.

"Fer God's sake!" Lucy exclaimed from the bar. She turned to some of her workers. "Take him to the double-bedded room, in the far end of the upper hallway. He won't disturb no-one there," she sneered.

Bella watched as two men struggled to remove the fat, sleeping sergeant. They had to call for two more. Four men dragged, pushed and pulled Sgt. Thompson up the stairs, rounding the upper corner. Their faces were red and beady with pearls of sweat when they returned; getting that big and heavy man up those stairs a most exhausting task no doubt.

But it left Bella alone in the company of Edward Masen. "Why Miss Swan, how ghastly that you should be witness to such a scene," Edward stated, the nasal tone reinforced.

"I pity the sergeant," she retorted back at him still looking up the stairs.

"Why pity a man who is living his dream?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Because, Sgt. Thompson is left in charge of the garrison with Captain Forster breathing down his neck. I would not want to be in his shoes. That was probably the reason for his intoxication this mid-morning." Bella started getting up, Edward mimicking her action. When she had mentioned that Collins had rather given Thompson the charge than Forster, Mr. Masen could not help his eyes widen slightly.

"You fear Captain Forster?" Edward asked, his tone less nonchalant and more serious.

Bella had gathered her skirts and aimed for the door. She looked at him for a long while, wondering how he of all people would understand. "Who doesn't?" she asked him as she headed for the door. She would have no luck with Thompson today.

Masen was left looking at her figure leaving the door. And he was not the only man in that tavern watching her striking figure. One of the craftsmen working at the tannery got up hastily as if he was to follow Bella.

"Ya will wait until that girl is on her horse or ya will be havin' me stalkin' after ya!" Lucy's voice boomed across the room. Edward smiled at her overprotectiveness of the young girl. The big woman looked about the room. "That goes for the whole of ya lot!" Her eyes stopped at him as well. "Even for the gents."

Edward bowed while taking his cocked hat. He was offended that Lucy would think him ever capable of harming that young woman.

He found himself before the garrison with squinted eyes. "So, Collins is gone, eh?" he mumbled to himself. Edward saw the gates open and caught sight of some men in the cells by the garrison courtyard. He placed the black hat atop his head and produced his walking cane while strolling to the coach. Edward Masen rarely rode directly on horseback.

"Joseph, home," he said, rushed.

"Were you not invited to supper at the Stanleys'?" his servant asked. Joseph followed him to most places, unofficially turned into Edward's personal servant, it seemed.

"I shall extend my apologies." He settled into the cushioned carriage, keeping a sophisticated and arrogant air about him. "A sudden burst of headache has taken me."

Joseph said no more and urged the horses back to the Masen townhouse.

* * *

"The only thing I see you do Edward is sit, and read, and read and sit…and attend those blasted soirées!" Carlisle had had enough of his son for the third time that week when he caught him in his chamber with his shirt unbuttoned, an opened bottle of wine on the table to his side and a book in his hand.

"How unfortunate, father, that you cannot find peace in reading," his son drawled.

Carlisle stopped pacing and squinted his eyes at his son, a nerve popping in his forehead, but the man kept his wits. "You linger in your vices like a sinner and a foppish clown, Edward," he said with an unpleasantly calm voice.

"Well," Edward wafted his hand in the air, still not removing his eyes from the book. "It seems nothing I accomplish or do will ever please you," he closed the book with a snap. "So I stopped trying," he added with a nasal drawl and bored expression.

"Emmett has been waiting for you to fence for the last thirty minutes and you _will_ go to the garden courtyard and meet him."

"He cut me last time." Edward leaned in with wide eyes. "And I think it was on purpose, father," he stated, aghast at the very thought—fright slightly hidden behind arrogance.

Carlisle massaged his temples, begging God to give him strength and patience with his son. "Because you slipped, Edward."

"I cannot help it if the flooring is faulty," his son whined. The shirt peaked open and Carlisle caught sight of a very faint bruise across the left of his chest. Edward tied his white shirt shut. "One should not fence on marble, father."

"Marble? You were fencing on stone, with adequate shoes. Listen, Edward, all I wish for you is to learn what you should have learned at Oxford. Yes, you came back with heaps of philosophy, literature and other vast knowledge. But you completely ignored the trainers I had contacted for you—the men who were supposed to teach you the art of fighting."

"Because it did not go well with the crowds and circles I frequented." Carlisle was about to protest, and Edward put his hands up. "If it pleases you, father. I shall have another go at it." He cast the book aside. _The Rape of the Lock_, by Alexander Pope stared up at Carlisle in bold lettering and he snickered at it.

But he did not see the defeat plastered over Edward's features. Yet, the young man thought as he headed down the stairs to another session that would leave him looking more pathetic in front of his father and brother in law: he had chosen this.

* * *

It was another summer night descending upon Hayes. Major Collins was still away, leaving the garrison to Sgt. Thompson, something that did not sit well with Captain Forster. That the higher command should not be in charge was humiliating. Forster knew Collins wanted him removed, but, of course, the major's hands were quite tied. Forster wondered if it was the reason he had gone. The moment Collins had left town, however, Forster had shut Thompson out and ruled with an iron fist, doing as he wished once more, knowing there'd be little consequences.

The bandits were kept for interrogation and awaited their hearing that would most likely develop into a full-blown trial. They had been caught in the act. But Forster had to see to it that they were disposed of before Collins returned.

And this was the night.

The garrison was sleepy, the usual sentries relaxed as they had not seen a shadow creep around for the past few weeks.

And as fate would have it, the night when the moon was absent, a dark figure blended in perfectly with the backdrop of darkness.

He slipped past the whitewashed wall silently and with little effort. His first stop was the office. It was dark, with no light, nothing to tell him that someone could be in there. Information was always of importance to him and he quickly managed to get the window open.

Major Collins usually left his office impeccable, but after Forster had once more taken over, it was messy; messier than usual.

The shadow started going through documents until he found what he was looking for. A silent exhalation of air told of his satisfaction as he tucked it into the sash of his pants.

He slipped out of the window and looked around.

Forster was still up, and he walked up to the sleepy sentries. "You fools! I shall have you flogged if I see you as much as blinking again!" he shouted at them. "You are to keep eyes on those thieves at all times," he said, pointing to the bandits sleeping in their cells. The sentries nodded, afraid to speak against their captain.

Sgt. Thompson came running to their rescue. "Captain, I am afraid these men should be taken off duty as they have been standing since afternoon and no one has come to relieve them," the burly sergeant stated in his baritone voice.

Forster turned to him. "And who would relieve them? You? Don't make me laugh, sergeant!"

"But—"

"Back to your quarters!"

Sgt. Thompson's shoulders fell as a look of childish defeat plastered on his unshaven face. He sloped back to his quarters and once more the garrison fell silent.

It was time to act. While the exhausted sentries fought against everything to stay awake as the hour ticked closer and closer to midnight, the shadow snuck to the stables and set the horses loose. The beasts flew to the opened garrison doors and across the plaza, separating in all directions.

Lights flooded the garrison courtyard as lancers and soldiers rushed out sans uniforms, having only jumped into their boots. Some had not even put on shirts.

"What is this commotion?" Forster had stepped out too, still in his garb. Even the bandit prisoners chuckled at the commotion. "Go after the horses, you fools!"

The soldiers—ever warry of their captain's wrath—all set after the horses. "Not all of you!" he cried after them, but it was too late. Only the sentries, him, and Thompson remained.

Forster fumed at the stupidity of his men. "Who left the gates opened?" he shrieked in anger, the hair coming undone from its ribbon and falling into his face.

The shadow thought it the best time to act. He had to speak with the bandits, extract information from them as soon as the captain settled back in his quarters.

Thompson looked like a child getting scolded by his mother as Forster yelled at his foolish incompetence. However, that soon died down. And when Forster went back to his room and Thompson went to sulk in his quarters, the shadow stepped out into the open with a smirk on his lips.

He slipped closer to the cell and saw one of the bandits lying unmoving on the floor.

"Who goes there?"

"Shh!" he hissed, turning around to see that the sentries had not heard the bandit speak. But they were too tired to even notice. "Someone seeking answers."

What appeared to be the leader of the group, a gangly man in his late forties with some bruises on his left eye and a split lip stood tall and proud. "Who are you?" He appeared frightened when he could not discern any features; only black shadows on the figure.

"That does not matter," the dark voice rasped. "I need to confirm something," he continued.

"Harry, don't say anythin'!" the other bandit rasped to his friend, clutching his leg. "It's another trap. We'll end up like Sebastian." Sebastian was presumably the man sprawled on the floor, unconscious after what seemed like a harsh beating.

"Hush, Jonah!" Harry hissed back, and his black eyes turned to the shadow once more. "What do you want to know?"

"You have been robbing the trail going through Raven's Grove, yes?" the shadow asked. The clouds parted slightly, some stars illuminating the courtyard, yet they were still not able to discern any features. It unsettled the man named Jonah even further. The leader Harry, however, spoke as calmly as he could.

"Aye," he confessed. "When I starved, that was fine, but when my family started doing so as well, I took action." He did not seem ashamed to admit to what he had done.

"But you were paid to steal on that exact road." The shadow inched closer now, more clouds parted. Harry' hand clutched the thick bar of the iron gate that enclosed the cell.

"How did you know?" he whispered. There was something amiss in this entire conversation. This man managed to rattle him more than any other man had before.

All he saw was the flash of teeth as the shadow grinned. So at least it was human, he thought. "I have my ways," it whispered. "But I need to know _who_ paid you, it is very important." The shadow stepped closer and the stars were fully visible on the night sky now.

For the first time, the two men got to see just to whom they had been speaking with. Harry froze while Jonah's eyes widened, and he paled as his mouth dropped. "C-Cullen?" he trembled, speaking a bit too loudly. They had heard the rumors circulating Hayes; that the long-dead general was back from the grave.

"That is my name," the shadow said. He looked ready to pounce, like a panther, oozing predatory instincts that unsettled them. Suddenly, Harry was very grateful for the iron-barred door that separated him from that...thing. He had seen paintings, he had seen the statue in the old square for he had been to Hayes before turning into a bandit. And this looked like Edward Cullen to such a degree that he believed it from the second he saw him. "But I wish to know who contacted you—who paid you." He had inched closer and Harry took a step back, an involuntary action that showed his true fright.

"Forster," he breathed. He would not lie to this man—thing—shadow; whatever it was! "Forster," Harry whispered as his voice broke. "And it was Forster who set us up and had us arrested."

"The other bandits who were captured a few weeks ago…did you know them as well?" the menacing voice asked.

"N-no, we did not even know there had been bandits in Raven's Grove before us before we ventured into Hayes last week."

Suddenly movement rattled behind them and Cullen turned around hastily, taking a battle stance. Harry pressed against the door to his iron cage. "You may be a ghost, sir, but you should get away from here before Forster gets his clutches on you," he hissed.

The sentries had gotten waft of the movement at the far end of the courtyard and when one of them had seen the shadow the soldiers had been speaking about non-stop for the last month, he had sounded the alarm.

"What on earth—" Forster yelled once more, now stepping out in a white tunic and dark emerald robe hastily thrown over.

The masked face turned back to the bandits. "Maybe it is Captain Forster who should be wary of me," he smirked, his voice suddenly catching a strangely jovial and relaxed undertone.

Forster first paled when he saw the familiar shadow. "_You_," he uttered in disgust.

"Well met, Captain!" the stranger saluted.

Sgt. Thompson had stumbled out with sleep still in his eyes. He had never _seen_ the ghost of Cullen before and, thus, as he lay eyes on the black-garbed man, he thought he was still dreaming, until Forster screamed his throat out to get a weapon while he rushed back to his room, no doubt to get his own sword.

The shadow side-stepped a lancer rushing at him with a drawn rapier. The lancer fell, and Cullen managed to land a hard punch at the back of his neck, knocking him out. Harry and Jonah stared in silent awe as they watched Edward Cullen toying with the soldiers. He picked up the sword and deflected a strike from the other lancer, disarming him with ease and knocking him out as well.

Sgt. Thompson was the next one to reach him, but as soon as he realized the man before him was not an apparition in a dream, he hesitated. A boyish and uncertain smile of pure nervousness and awkwardness plastered on Thompson's features as his mind slowly tried to process what to do. What surprised Harry most of all was that Cullen _waited_ for Thompson to process what he should do next.

"You know, sergeant, I do not have all night," Cullen finally sighed and walked past the burly soldier, deflecting a clumsy swing of Thompson's sword, sending it flying through the air. Thompson watched it land a few feet away in awe, taking the hint and rushing for help. There was no way in hell he would face that man again.

It was in that moment that the captain flew out to the garrison courtyard, a cocky expression on his features for he thought to be dealing with a masquerading idiot who had only gotten lucky thus far. Forster thought himself to be far superior with the sword. Even more so ever since Collins had insisted that they practice daily.

"Well, captain," the masked stranger said with a cheerful undertone to his dark voice. "It seems your soldiers have gone out horse-hunting."

Forster directed the tip of his rapier to the man. "So, it was you," he snarled through gritted teeth. "Know that I will take great pleasure in skinning your tawny hide!" he spat in hatred as he lunged for the masked man.

They started their fencing dance. Forster knew himself to have the situation under control at first. He started taking the offense right away, as he always did. He fought with the style he was comfortable with, not having to adapt too much to the stranger, who fought carefully at first. But what Forster did not know, of course, was that Cullen was analyzing his fighting style. It did not take long until he found several of Forster's weak spots.

What had started out as an offense strategy on Forster's part soon turned into pure defense as the stranger lunged and easily parried each of his own lunges. How did he know where he would strike next? He had never fought against such a skillful swordsman! "Sgt. Thompson!" Forster suddenly screamed out when he unwilfully admitted to himself that this man would not be bested by his sword. And the sergeant was nowhere to be seen. Where had that imbecile gone off to?

"Sgt. Thompson!" he shouted louder. And the stranger laughed. He _laughed_. The mere action of indifference and clear amusement shining in his dark eyes made Forster even more furious. They started moving toward the cells. A wooden shed was placed on the far end of the long line of cells, stacked up against the wall. Forster saw an opening and lunged straight for the masked man.

But something went wrong.

For the furious captain, the moment drew out with the length of his breath as he had to grasp the situation.

"_Beautiful_ coupé into the wall. You must show that to me sometime, captain," Cullen said rather amused, faking a sense of awe at the expertly demonstrated movement. Forster noticed his sword was stuck, that he himself had embedded it into the side of the wooden shed. He pulled, but the sword remained steadfast in the wood as if it were Excalibur stuck in the stone. His gray orbs met with shrouded black ones as a devilish grin came his way. But, despite the air of amusement, the undertone of danger and menace was still there.

The tip of Cullen's sword came to rest on his chest, just where his heart was. "Now, will you please get into the cell?" But he was not really asking, Forster noted. He bit back several remarks, noting that he was not exactly in any position to be quipping at the moment.

The proud captain backed until he stepped into one of the cells and saw the door come to a close and the stranger produce a set of keys—keys Cullen had found earlier in the office. Forster, however, had no idea where he had gotten those keys. But the deafening sound of a locking door together with those pearly whites taunting him made Forster want to choke the living daylights out of that man.

"I will get you, Cullen," he spat.

The man chuckled and bowed. "I look forward to the day you best me. In the meantime, I suggest you practice more. Your offense was rather sloppy," he advised, and Forster kicked the iron bars in anger.

Cullen turned around just as Thompson lunged at him, stopping right in his tracks as he saw that the shadow's attention was now fully on him. Cullen whistled, the sound making Thompson jump in place. He rushed with drawn sword and placed the tip on the rotund belly, only to cut the sash. Thompson screamed in fright as his trousers started slinking down his legs until he dropped his own sword to grab the garb from falling completely.

"Thompson pick up your sword and fight!" Forster shouted angrily from his cell. But as Thompson turned around to go after Cullen, he was caught in the sheer size of his trousers and fell on his face just as a magnificent black steed entered the courtyard of the garrison.

The stranger mounted and gave a mocking salute to the captain. "Captain Forster, let us repeat this delightful encounter sometime!" he chuckled as he kicked the stallion into a gallop, thus leaving the garrison through the open gates with no resistance.

Forster popped several veins in neck and forehead as he shouted in anger and the masked stranger laughed the whole way back into Raven's Grove.

* * *

**A/N: Hi again. Thank you for all the reviews on the last chapter. I will not leave you waiting too long after that cliffie so here is chapter 12. I hope you enjoyed it!**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	13. Chapter 13

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 13_

In a quiet corner of the Masen drawing room, Jasper Hale sat and silently regarded as the rest of his extended family kept bickering about last night's occurrences. Edward Cullen, or at least the man who had dressed like him, had waltzed into the garrison simply to humiliate Captain Forster in the absence of Major Collins.

And some gentlemen on their way home from Lucy's tavern had seen it all. The humiliating swordfight which Forster had lost, the escaping horses: _everything_. Their tongues wagged before their brains caught on. They could not come to think how bad of an idea it was to divulge that Captain Forster had been bested. But they could not keep such delicious news down.

Jasper, ever intrigued by everything which had to do with Cullen, listened as his sister in law kept on blabbering about what she had heard from Jessica Stanley—someone who had heard gossip from her mother who apparently was friends with a mother of one of the young gentlemen. It was not a direct source, but it would have to do.

"I tell you he is a gentleman!" Emmett chuckled with a satisfied smirk.

"Riley Talbot says he looked like the devil come to life. What gentleman would go about in the night dressed in such a way?" Rosalie questioned.

"I think it's romantic!" Alice intervened.

Emmett turned to Rosalie as Alice kept blabbering about riding in the moonlight to her brother Edward and her husband. "He bested Captain Forster with the blade. And the blade is a gentleman's weapon."

He drew the attention from Carlisle. "Is Forster any good?" Carlisle asked, leaning forward in the chair as he played around with a small silver spoon which had been left over from tea.

"Indeed, Lord Masen. He may not be the best in Safeira or even Wessport. But Collins trains his soldiers hard. Captain Forster is at least distinguished enough to hold up his own with the blade. That he was bested so easily, leads me to think that this _Cullen_ has had some training."

"But could not anyone acquire such training these days?" Jasper asked. He received direct attention from his brother in law.

"Tell me where a swordsmaster would give out his secrets for free. Not in Angloa," Emmett answered. He spoke with such assuredness that anything they said blew completely past him.

"Maybe not in Angloa, Spain, Italy or England. But they need swift blades in France now more than ever. Who is to say that a swordsmaster has not turned his back on his old patrons and gone the new way?" Rosalie wondered.

"Don't say that this fiend is a revolutionary!" Edward intervened. He pronounced the last word with something akin to disgust. "Dear heaven, we do not need a rebellion in Hayes!"

Emmett looked pensive for a while. "Maybe…it is a possibility. But I would need to see that man fight for myself before anything else is decided."

They all kept pondering why that masked man had entered the garrison. Carlisle would have paid a thousand crowns to see Forster ridiculed. And he was certain there were more in Hayes who would do the same.

Jasper had scarcely spoken when he and Alice took a stroll in the gardens. "That look," Alice commenced as she saw his jaw square and his eyes wandering without really focusing on anything in particular as she kept on musing about Miss Swan and her distaste for Jessica Stanley. "You always get that look when puzzling the pieces together in your brain."

Jasper turned to her. "There is something very wrong in this town, Alice." He turned to face her. They stood amidst rosebushes and lilies on an immaculately cut carpet of grass. "A man has returned in the guise of Edward Cullen for a reason. But what reason?" he asked himself. "There has to be some connection. He does not steal. Instead, he lounges around the garrison like he owns the place and he delivers bandits from the forest without breaking a sweat." Jasper looked past the wall that separated the back street from the Masen garden.

"Should we be worried?" Alice asked.

Jasper turned his full attention to her. "Alice, I cannot say why I believe this. But think about it, about what your mother said upon our arrival. It all started with saving Billy Black. And things escalated after the death of Lucas Ridge." As he spoke, it was evident that the fog in his mind started lifting.

"You think they are connected?" Alice wondered suddenly. She saw the light sparkle in his eyes.

"They have to be…" he trailed off.

"Jasper…why should we even worry with this?"

He stopped pacing with her hand still on his arm. "Because I think this man is trying to unearth something. He is hiding his face for a reason." Those words produced a shiver in Alice as she took a deep breath. Her stays dug into her ribs.

Jasper caught wind of her delicate state. He would not upset her anymore with his speculations. But he was certain that the man they knew as Cullen was on to something. And he would find out what it was as well.

* * *

"Now, as I've said once and again, Edward, fencing is an _art_," Emmett mused as he walked in circles around his brother in law. Edward Masen sported a padded vest, covers for his knees and elbows and a fencing mask. He looked ridiculous for, beneath the protective clothing, he wore a frilly shirt with lace cuffs not suitable for sport. His boots were, as always, impeccably polished.

The day bore down on both men with an impressive heat, and before already starting, Edward was sweating. However, Emmett McCarty suffered the heat as well.

The click of Emmett's boots on the stone echoed against the walls of the townhouse. Carlisle was sitting next to Rosalie enjoying some mid-morning tea. He watched his son intently. Now that bandits and dead men roamed the once sleepy town of Hayes, he insisted his only son learn how to defend himself—despite his loud protests.

"Yes, yes," Edward waved his hand carelessly with the ever-present nasal tone.

"Have you practiced your steps and lunges?" Emmett asked as he stopped before him. Edward nodded. "The compound attack?" Another nod. "Your coulé?"

"I've practiced those blasted moves, Emmett. Let us get this over with so I might continue with my day. I do not wish to waste it sweating away," he snorted. Emmett could not read his expression from within the fencing mask, but he was certain Edward's face expressed that of general distaste.

"En garde, then," Emmett muttered. They got into position and started their dance.

"Papa dear," Rosalie said as she continued with the sketch she'd been working on. "I think we should get a bodyguard for Edward instead of _trying_ to teach him the impossible," she said in a delicate voice.

Carlisle arched an eyebrow. "Who in their right mind would tattle after a fop like my son?" he asked dryly. But then he turned more serious. "Times are dangerous, and he needs to know how to defend himself, Rosalie."

His oldest sighed as she put down paper and pen. "The only reason he is agreeing to do this silly exercise is to please you," she chastised. "He does not wish to displease you, papa."

"Displease?" Carlisle muttered.

"Edward may have…erm taken to new tastes, but he is still perceptive. He knows what you think of him. And even if he cannot change who he is now, I reckon having lost respect in your eyes is hard for him."

"I have not…lost my respect for him." Carlisle glanced while his son stumbled and fell with an audible _oomph_. "It is just that I—you remember him before he left, Rosalie! He was so full of passion, full of life. He didn't mind getting his hands dirty. The boy damned thirsted for these kinds of things. And now… now the mere act of walking from his rooms to his carriage tires him."

Rosalie pressed her lips together as she watched her brother get up with the help of her husband. "We must accept that Edward is not that boy anymore," she whispered.

"Well, he did not turn into a man," Carlisle muttered sourly.

"Papa!" she hissed. "You are too harsh."

"You are, Carlisle," came another voice. Esmeralda stepped out into her garden with a disappointed expression on her delicate features. "He is your son."

Carlisle got visibly flustered. "Esme," he trailed off.

"I will not have this discussion with you again. Edward might not be the man we had hoped for, but I still love him. Rosalie and Alice do too. And so should you," she said. Their conversation was quiet enough so that the fencing men had not heard them.

Emmett blocked another clumsy lunge, making Edward lose his footing enough so that he fell once more. "Damnation!" Edward uttered. He huffed and removed the mask from his face. Before standing up he took a moment to collect himself, not willing to show his anger. He pressed the sword and fencing mask into Emmett's hands. "I think that is enough for one day, McCarty," Edward muttered as he stepped away. His shirt was soaked, sticking to his skin. He stepped into the house, walking past the rest of his family.

They might have spoken in hushed voices, but he knew well enough who the subject was. And if they were speaking of him, he could indeed imagine what the conversation was about.

He walked through the drawing room, scattering the vest and paddings, heading to his chambers when he almost ran into a shorter figure.

Edward grew flustered, almost dropping the foppish countenance, almost acting out his frustrations on the poor maid or footman who had gotten in his way when he found none other than Bella Swan flustered before him.

"Miss Swan," he said, dumbfounded. However, he found the young woman lacking in words and turned confused as to her flustered state of mind.

And then Edward realized indeed why the young lady might be growing so red. He realized that the shirt he'd been wearing that was once white—now practically turned transparent because of his sweat; plastered to his body like a second skin. And he also realized that she might catch more skin than he would have deemed proper for a young and unmarried lady. He had not buttoned up the front, thus it gaped down, showing most of his chest.

Indeed, Bella had seen the stable boys, or the workers remove soaked clothes on a hot summer's day. And she had always been intrigued as to the physique of men, so different from a woman's curves and supple figure. As she grew into her teen years, she could not divert her eyes from the broad shoulders and wide chests, never really knowing why. It was only later that she learned what ladies and gents of _all_ classes would do in the privacy of their bedrooms from her maids.

But there was one thing that had thrown Bella off more than anything else for the past few days: days plentiful of run-ins with masked men, fugitives, and ghosts. And that was seeing the foppish Mr. Masen so bared before her.

Who on God's green earth would ever believe that the fop hid such a physique under his frocks and mile-long cravats? Certainly not Bella Swan.

"Mr. Masen, I do believe you are in need of new attire," she muttered under her breath. "What on _earth_ have you been doing?" she asked, genuinely intrigued. Genuinely flustered. Slightly panicked.

His nose rose in the air as he slumped his form and took a step away from her. "Miss Swan," he spoke in that same and unnerving thin nasal tone. "I have been fencing."

"Fencing?" Her face took a confused expression.

"Yes, fencing." His lips pressed together, yet he managed to look quite proud. At that moment, Emmett and Rosalie McCarty walked into the drawing room.

"I reckon you are here for Alice?" Rosalie asked, not bothering with any pleasantries. Emmett muttered something in her ear, but Rosalie shrugged it off.

However, Bella Swan paid the beautiful blonde little heed. "Fencing?" she repeated again. What had spurred Mr. Masen to think that he could _fence_?

Emmett nodded and chuckled. "Mine and his father's doing, I am afraid, Miss Swan," Emmett insisted. He too dressed only in a simple white shirt and black pants with brown boots. However, Emmett did not keep the same frilly lace about him as Edward did.

"My brother needs to learn the art," Rosalie filled in.

"I have been practicing too long," Edward snarled.

"You need to practice a lifetime, Edward dear, before you are even capable of holding the sword straight," his sister chuckled.

Harsh, Bella thought. Yet, Edward Masen did not seem bothered by the remark. He gave her a small nod and left for his chambers where he would no doubt bathe and change into his preferred and perfumed vestments.

She watched in silence as he stepped out of the room. "Joseph brought me in," Bella said without turning, feeling the golden eyes of Rosalie drill into her neck. With a small turn of her heel, she faced her friend's sister. "But Alice is not here, you say?"

"Not here, Miss Swan."

"Then where?"

Rosalie walked over to her in slow steps. "With Mr. Hale taking a stroll in the woods."

The moment Raven's Grove was mentioned, Bella stifled a shiver. "Is there no fear that more bandits might creep between the trees?" she asked.

Rosalie straightened next to her husband. "Despite your alarms, Jasper Hale is quite apt at defending himself with the blade. And, besides, Sgt. Thompson and a few other lancers offered to escort them," she smiled.

"Sgt. Thompson _offered_? On a warm day such as this?" Bella questioned, a delicate eyebrow arched as she crossed her arms.

Rosalie shrugged her shoulders. "Wine or ale at the Laughing Goose might have been discussed," she murmured.

Of course, Bella thought. Then, to the Laughing Goose she would head. She needed her trusted friend to take her mind of the occurrences that had transpired so far in Hayes. And, maybe, she could talk with them and play with the idea of Lucas Ridge's death not being a mere suicide. She trusted enough in their integrity not to try to read too much between the lines.

"Then I am off," she curtsied and turned to leave. Rosalie did not offer any words of goodbye as she saw the striking young woman leave the room, only to be escorted to the entrance by Joseph.

"Rosalie," Emmett turned to his wife with a concerned expression. "Why this animosity toward Miss Swan?"

She remained silent for a long while before turning to him and answering. "She bothers me," was all she could say until she left him, going to her mother's rooms.

* * *

Collins sighed as he dismounted his horse. His eyes darted around Hayes. The major's return had been kept quiet, he had come there under cover of the late evening.

His suspicions had grown quite alarmed ever since Safeira.

He knew what Captain Forster had been the moment he had first arrived in town. The blatant arrogance of the officer—thinking he could get away with his schemes—angered the major. Collins had made it clear that Forster was to be reprimanded. Other officers had lost their ranks for less.

Yet, nothing seemed to touch the captain. Until now, his actions had not caught the attention of the superiors in either Safeira or Wessport. Collins suspected Forster was protected by someone. The most reasonable assumption had been Lord Newton. Having Forster help the magistrate overtly tax the people of Hayes to fill his pockets had been Collin's first assumption.

But there was something more sinister afoot. He had heard of Mr. Ridge and the supposed suicide. And as time passed and Collins went over old reports—seeing the full extent of the abuse of Captain Forster—he wondered if Mr. Ridge might have been murdered. Had the lawyer maybe threatened the captain only to be silenced?

It unnerved and unsettled the major. It had been just enough to chance a visit to the capital, to use his connections to find out more about the cruel captain of Hayes. He needed to find out who was protecting Forster and snuff him out before the madman kept on pushing the people to the abyss. Angloa did _not _need any more tumult. While Collins thought the ideals of revolutionary France to be noble and just, he—like many others—was dismayed at seeing what the reign of terror had brought onto the once grand country. Angloa was not to go in the same direction.

Alas, there was nothing he could do in Safeira. Wherever he turned, he was faced with dismissing superiors. Men were too occupied by either their own importance, the frivolities of the grand city, power or the rising tensions in politics and with the king. They did not care about a power-hungry captain in some remote town in Cadherra. And they did not heed his warning when he urged that the situation might escalate.

Longer into his stay he had tried to search for other reasons lancers could not be spared for Cadherra. Little by little, Collins started unraveling payments, bribes—someone wanted Cadherra and Hayes to be closed off—under the control of few men: men like Forster it seemed.

He had given up, resolved to expose Forster himself and have him publicly stripped from his rank and thrown out of the Royal Guard. Forster was a complete disgrace to the uniform.

He walked out of his office. Forster already knew of his presence and had tried to gather the soldiers. Collins had scarcely seen any townspeople dare venture close to the garrison. He wondered what the captain had done this time.

His eyes spotted a few men in the cells—troublemakers or something else? Something glinted at the end of the long row of cells, the wooden shed had a rapier sticking out of it, swaying gently in the late summer breeze.

"I didn't get the chance to welcome you back, sir," came a voice to his right. Forster stood in his pristine uniform. Collins wrinkled his nose now that he was certain the captain was pockets-deep in corruption and greed.

However, he would not show it. Collins did not know yet in whom he could trust, but one thing was certain—in Forster he most certainly could not.

"I noticed you made quite good use of my quarters when I was gone," he added haphazardly.

Forster might have grown flustered. "I…since you were out of town, the next officer of high rank should occupy those chambers, it is only wanting—"

Collins turned around to face Forster and thus interrupted him. "I gave that post to Sergeant Thompson. Yet you ignored a direct order," he growled.

Forster grew only more flustered. "I have not lost my rank, major, I cannot just hand over that position when I clearly hold the higher rank," Forster tried, even more flustered.

Collins rose an eyebrow. "I think my command out trumps your rank, don't you?" He took a wider stance. "And what is this I hear that _my_ office _and_ yours were broken into?"

Forster had grown seemingly red in the face by now. The passing soldiers tried to avoid both officers like the plague. "It was—"

Collins' finger pointed to the sword that Forster had still been unable to pull out of the wooden wall. "A jokester? Please spare me the lies, captain. I have heard for a fact that someone managed to enter the garrison and made a fool out of us!" Collins' voice grew higher and higher. "How could this be allowed?!" he spat angrily. It felt good rattling the otherwise proud and foolish captain before him.

"It was no mere jokester, sir!" Forster uttered, trying desperately to defend himself. "He knew exactly what he was doing—"

"More townspeople are now saying it was Edward Cullen in the flesh. We do not need superstitious rumors to be floating around—or people to chant Audeamus in the streets. The last thing Hayes needs is to be spurred into open revolt against law and order by this fool. Are we clear?" He did not let Forster open his mouth before he continued. "You will have a report on my desk by the end of the day detailing every miniscule second of this encounter. I _will_ have all the information about this man. Is that clear?"

Forster nodded, fighting hard to hold his tongue.

"You are dismissed, captain."

Major Collins watched as Forster left, his eyebrows knitted together, the August breeze dragging at his low golden ponytail. He needed to know this intruder—needed to know what answers he was seeking. For, indeed, Collins was certain this intruder—who had also attacked during the mayor's party—was seeking answers.

And perhaps they were answers Collins needed as well. Like, say, the strange circumstances surrounding Lucas Ridge's death. All the suspecting major knew was that things were not as they seemed in the otherwise peaceful town of Hayes. And he would unravel them, no matter what it took.

* * *

Lucy's eyes glinted across the room, taking in the same scene as always—drunkards, bothersome soldiers and some patrons that always tipped well.

Thompson was absent that evening. Usually, he would be there, in the company of none other than Mr. Masen. She liked to refer to him as Junior. In fact, many had done so. Rumors that Lord Masen was appalled by his son only grew stronger and stronger.

It was strange seeing Edward Masen among the humbler lot of Hayes. He, so refined, so pristine, stood out alarmingly much. The Laughing Goose had never before been graced by the reoccurrence of such a wealthy patron. Thus, she would not turn him away, despite his rather unsavory remarks over her beloved tavern. Besides, other things occupied her mind.

Lucy's brows knitted together, and her lips thinned. It was evident that a play between Forster and Collins had gone underway. The major had made it open that he did not like the captain. But, then, why not dismiss him? Why not have him sent to Safeira and discipline him for his many evil actions against the townspeople of Hayes? Easy, Collins couldn't. The people didn't know why, but someone of high stature must be on Forster's side protecting him.

And thus, it made the people whisper Audeamus wherever they went, in silence, in secrecy. Some tired souls—a handful of the younger ones—had ventured to Raven's Grove where it was said one could find Cullen if one knew where to look. To follow him was growing to be considered a great honor. And there was no doubt in their minds anymore that he…or his ghost, was there present.

Bella, sitting by the bar, saw the older woman's worried expression. She did not bring up either Cullen, Collins or Ridge to her anymore. By her request. But the young woman knew what troubled Lucy so. She sipped the juice slowly in her cup. All of this had started once Billy Black had been taken into custody, and it had escalated with the death of Ridge.

Bella went over everything mentally once more. Cullen had appeared the same night Mr. Black had been imprisoned. Lucas Ridge had defended Billy once he returned and wouldn't give up the man who'd saved him. In some way or another, Forster had managed to imprison Billy again and that the judiciary system should have failed Mr. Black bore down so hard on Lucas that he killed himself. Right after his death, Cullen had escalated his taunts and attacks against the garrison and Forster. Bandits had started stealing on the King's Road to Raven's Grove which prompted Collins to be transferred to the garrison and oversee its command.

Bella paused, it was hard to keep track of it all and she decided she should start writing it down only so that she might remember it. Cullen had sought something in the mayor's new estate, as well as in her house. Could it be the note Ridge had written? Or maybe it was more information that he sought: information that proved to her that Lucas Ridge knew something before dying. Yet, the note she'd found was her only clue—her only hope he might come back. The more Bella thought about it, the more it made sense. The Royal Guard had combed through the place when she'd gotten there; as if Forster wanted to clean up the mess and erase any trace that could lead back to him. Maybe it was such information Cullen sought.

This time she would be prepared. The young woman licked her lips. This time she would know what to ask him; she was certain he would seek her out again.

A guitar sounded somewhere in the tavern as the evening grew to become night.

"Ya should be goin' now, Bella," Lucy said as she wiped the countertop with further force. Her beady eyes darted about in the dim light.

"It's not even eight, Lucy. Besides, I'd rather not be home right now." Bella paused and put the cup down, letting it settle on the worn countertop. "I know you worry for me—"

Lucy leaned forward, her harsh eyes managing to capture the chocolate brown orbs that fought hard to evade them. "Thompson ain't comin' tonight, miss. Collins has the whole garrison under an iron fist since his return from Safeira."

Bella's lips pressed together. She thought she might have gotten more information out of Thompson before heading back. Alas, it was not to be.

"Let me call on Joe for ya, I won't be lettin' ya go all alone in these times—"

"I can manage, Lucy. Thank you," Bella smiled. She cast a few coins on the counter and got up, leaving for the entrance of the tavern. The sun had already started setting and it got darker quicker. September was nearing and with it came fall, and winter. Summer had passed by too quickly, she was not yet ready for the chill of its absence.

April was latched to a post in front of the tavern. Bella walked over to her. "There, my girl," she cooed to the mare. She took the reins and mounted the horse, turning in the saddle to gaze at the garrison. Bella did indeed wonder what was taking place behind those walls. She wondered if Cullen would make another appearance soon. She had been waiting for him to sneak into her chambers for the past week, a growing disappointment telling her she would not be seeing more of him.

On her trot home, she passed one of the outer gates, finding it odd that it should be standing half open. The curfew would soon be in place and unless one had a strict invitation to a gathering or a friend's dinner, no one was allowed to graze outside—even less outside of Hayes.

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline as she saw a figure wave at her by the gate. Bella's heart stopped as she held the reins taut. She froze, and April stomped in place nervously.

"W-who goes there?" she whispered, quickly looking around the neighborhood to make sure they were not being spied upon. But then the young woman came to the realization that having no witnesses might not be such a good thing either.

It could not be him—could it? She remained seated on April, listening intently to the sounds in the shadow. She heard only the howl of the wind,

"Come closer," a strained voice whispered. Bella shivered. But strangely she did as it bade, automatically urging April to move toward the shadows. Indeed, Bella Swan had never been so _curious_ before.

She expected to find him there, in his black garb, ever menacing. She expected the deep voice, to flow in her direction like amber honey and make her knees buckle with its melody. She expected his intense aura to ooze and surround her.

But, instead, and surprisingly to her disappointment, she was met with Jacob Black.

"Jacob!" she hissed as she flung herself off April. Had her father been there, she held no doubt that he would've had a minor attack at her brutish behavior. And Bella suspected her mother would have been none too happy either.

She pulled the reins over her mare's head and snuck up to her old friend. He seemed tense, his eyes surveilling the road passing by the gate.

"What are you doing here? They told me you left! Why are you acting so suspicious?" demanded the shorter woman with a quizzical expression.

He dressed in more casual clothing than before. Despite not knowing much about his whereabouts, Jacob Black looked better than she expected. Alas, he gave the impression like he was about to commit a crime—or had already committed one. He dressed in darker clothes, and had a hat in his hands, no doubt it would conceal him once he was done speaking with her.

"I need something from you, Bella," Jacob hurried her.

She could not help it as her hand rested on her waist and her head shifted to the side.

Jacob muttered something under his breath. "I also meant to say that it is genuinely good to see you again, my friend." They hadn't seen each other in weeks. After Jacob had left town, Bella wondered if he had gone to seek out his father, wherever he was. But she knew he would divulge little to her. It seemed there was an air of mistrust oozing from him, and it hurt her. But she understood. Jacob had suffered much since the start of summer, and she did not doubt his view of the world had drastically changed. There was anger contained within him, an anger she knew very well to whom it was directed: to Captain Forster.

She shook her head with a defeated air. "What do you want?"

"You were the one to clean up most of Ridge's office. And you may have retained something from it."

Bella knew instantly what he spoke of. The note. But what she could not make out were several things. Why was Jacob of all people asking for that note? How did he know she had even found the note there lest he had gone there himself at a later time and purposefully looked for it?

She was about to sneer at him when she recollected herself. "Well, Mr. Black, had you come that day to help me, you might've found what you were looking for yourself—" she suddenly cut herself short, almost as if swallowing her tongue. In the midst of speaking the sentence, Bella had realized something pivotal.

Jacob Black was witness to Bella Swan's eyes widening further than he had ever thought possible. Indeed, never before had he seen her so stunned.

"You are in league with _him_¸ aren't you!" she exclaimed and was surprised when his hand clamored tightly over her lips in a desperate attempt to make her lower her voice. But Bella continued carelessly, removing his hand. "Do not tell me it is to Raven's Grove you have gone!"

"Schhh! Do you wish to bring the whole of Hayes here?" he begged.

Bella pushed away from him and pointed an accusing finger. "You _are_, oh you—you—"

"Do you have any information or not!"

She squared her shoulders defiantly and arched an eyebrow. "You may tell that fiend and bandit that he owes me an apology," she almost growled. April flickered her ears lazily, the mare looked as if almost sighing toward her mistress.

"An apology?" Jacob dared to ask.

"Aye, coming into my chambers like he _owned_ the place and demanding information."

It was too dark to fully discern, but Bella swore that Jacob grew flustered. "He entered your chambers?!" he asked in a strangled voice.

"While I was indecent in my nightgown and _sleeping_!"

But Jacob had not gotten past the first bit of information. He was too enthralled to fully process it. "In your chamber?" he murmured to himself.

Mayhap it had been a bit of information that Cullen had chosen not to share with Jacob. Bella could still not get over the fact that her childhood friend was in cohorts with him.

They arrived at staring at each other for a while, one with her lips tightly pressed and the other growing redder by the minute. Yet, Bella could still not make out if it was from fury or embarrassment.

She took the initiative to speak, finally. The hour grew late, and she had no mind to be caught out on the streets—even with Collins now commanding the garrison.

"Tell your _friend_," she said while mounting April. "That if he wishes that note he may come and claim it, together with an apology _and_ an explanation," she sneered.

* * *

**A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews and reads! I hope you will enjoy this one as well!**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	14. Chapter 14

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 14_

She paced back and forth in her chamber, reprimanding every minuscule word she had uttered to Jacob. It had been done in anger—during the heat of the moment. She had not even asked after his health! And her stupid pride had made her demand that…_Cullen_ now come for the note himself. She still remembered the feeling of dread and terror his presence had provoked at Wilson's estate and then in her rooms.

Bella directed a small slap to her forehead and growled through gritted teeth. She was a silly young girl that was getting deeper and deeper involved in affairs she oughtn't. Damnation! she thought.

She had not been able to redress into her nightgown for fear he would come and surprise her like last time. The maids, Lorraine and Sara in particular, couldn't ignore their young mistress' strange behavior.

Bella stared at the closed windows. Would Jacob have time to divulge what she had said to him? Would he come tonight? Or maybe she was getting ahead of herself. Maybe Jacob was not in cohorts with the bandit. Yet, he had done nothing to speak against her accusations.

Her hand went instantly to the suicide note, the source for all her worries. Cullen wanted it—at least that was what she suspected; she could not be entirely certain. And if Cullen had managed to break into the garrison, he would find a way into her rooms again.

Unless…

She walked over to the window. It was still night, hours away from the sun to rise in the sky and bring about a new dawn. The more she thought more about it, the more she realized that this might be a perfect opportunity to stifle her curiosity. During both their encounters, he had not lifted a finger to harm her. And despite the fear he invoked in her, he did not seem to actually be dangerous toward _her_. Maybe this was an apt opportunity to truly figure out who he was once and for all. A mask could only hide as much. He was from Hayes, that much she agreed on Emmett with. Maybe she could find more clues about the stranger while simultaneously unearthing Lucas Ridge's strange death.

She decided then and there as she sat on her bed with folded arms, staring intently at the window. And as the clock ticked by with no one appearing before her, Bella Swan grew dismayed. Maybe he wasn't coming after all. Mayhap Jacob was not in league with him.

The young woman never noticed herself fall asleep, only that the rays of the young sun awoke her. She groaned as she sat up from her made bed, the stays digging into her ribs, her hair disheveled, her face puffy from sleep.

The window was still firmly shut. Her hand went frantically to her pocket. The note was still here.

He had not come after all.

She snickered, of course Jacob wasn't in league with him. Then why insinuate such a thing? Could it be Jacob had taken it upon himself to investigate Lucas' death as well? Was it possible that Jacob _wished_ he was in league with the ghost of Cullen? The stranger had saved his father Billy twice, after all.

* * *

Sgt. Thompson had his big hands folded before him as he listened to Collins pace around in his office. The bandits from Raven's Grove had just presented them with a major problem. Two of them were dead in their cells. The third was nowhere to be found.

A scuffle had been the first guess. But Collins knew better. He suspected it now, that Forster must've had them taken care of. Which meant Forster was in league with highwaymen and bandits. It made Collins fear Hayes and Forster for the first time.

He knew that the only soldier he could truly trust in—because of his genuine innocence—was Sgt. Thompson. Not that Collins would share any vital information with him, of course.

The major had brought the sergeant to his office as soon as the dead bandits had been discovered. They had been sitting in tense silence until the officer started pacing. Thompson had never seen the dashing major so worried before.

"Maybe, sir, it is as the others say. They managed to get ahold of the keys, a scuffle somehow emerged and one of the bandits killed his two colleagues to get away faster?" Thompson added in a strangled voice.

Collins shook his head. "Who was on duty to guard them last night?"

Thompson had still not deciphered the true occurrences that were taking place in Hayes. "Galdo and Corporal Jack," he said. "They were posted right by the cells." A smile etched its way onto the sergeant's pudgy features. "Well, after that rascal Cullen got to speak to those bandits, Forster felt it necessary to increase security—"

Collins turned around hastily, with eyes as wide as saucers. He rushed over to Thompson and placed his hands on the armrests of the chair the sergeant was currently seating. The large man grew uncomfortable having his superior officer in such close proximity. Indeed, Collins' face was mere inches from Thompson's. His unshaven chins jiggled slightly as he swallowed forcefully.

"Cullen _spoke_ with them?" the major asked in a shaking voice that could not contain his surprise and curiosity.

"Y-yes," Thompson stammered. After this little interrogation, he would seek out The Laughing Goose for a nice cup of wine…or two. His nerves needed calming! "That is where Captain Forster found him and charged at him—after Cullen had set lose the horses of course. He had the whole garrison set out after them. Very clever, come to think of it." A cloudy look invaded the small dark eyes of Thompson, as he drifted off into thought.

Collins pursed his lips together until Thompson spoke up again in his pleasant baritone voice.

"Sir, I have always wondered—" he commenced, unsure if to continue.

"Speak up, sergeant," Collins allowed as he straightened up, embarrassed at his show of eagerness.

"If this is truly General Cullen, should we not extend a welcome to him? The poor fellow has been in that blasted grave for three hundred years and he _is_ a general. He holds the superior rank above any officer in this garrison. Technically," Thompson added slowly. "_He_ is in charge here."

Maybe with Forster, the fat soldier would have earned himself a kick on his hide. But with Collins it provoked such booming laughter that it made the sergeant join in, not truly understanding what was so funny. Major Collins found the sergeant's innocence a true breath of fresh air.

"It would surely ease our lives considerably, sergeant. You are dismissed," Collins said and allowed his soldier to stand.

When Thompson had shut the door, Collins stroked his chin and leaned against his desk. During his campaigning, one of his superior officers had once told him that—during war—one might be forced to use unconventional methods against the enemy. For every intent and purpose, they were truly at war in Hayes, although a hidden one. And while the man who was said to be Cullen was not his ally, he had not truly proven to be his enemy like Forster had.

Collins chuckled as the old proverb worked its way into his mind. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_. Maybe this Cullen was willing to help him take down Forster if Collins could first decide what it was the supposedly resurrected general truly fought for.

* * *

Sgt. Thompson watched the Laughing Goose in the heat of the afternoon as he scratched his head and felt in his pockets. Little Lucy would kick him out if he showed up again without any money. There was no sight of Miss Swan and he wondered how else he would have a taste of the mead or ale that the tavern owner served to quench his rising thirst. The mead they served in the tavern was the best, coming from the small church and its gardens outside of Hayes; St. Nicholas.

But destiny would have it that Sgt. Thompson would find a way. And that way was none other than Mr. Edward Masen, who just happened to pass him with his carriage. The pompous peacock dressed to impress as always. His powdered and rouged visage regarded Thompson haughtily from his vis-à-vis carriage.

"Sgt. Thompson!" the thin voice drawled as it was carried by the wind. The carriage stopped and Edward got off, walking up to the bigger and burlier man. "What has you standing like a buffoon before this establishment. Pray tell, I _must_ know," Edward urged with little actual interest. He made the whole affair seem tiresome, bothering; like he was doing Thompson a grand favor even stopping in the first place.

But, of course, Thompson never noticed that. His stomach rumbled at the opportune time and a sad look plastered over his face. Some men left the tavern and upon opening the door, the waft of a hearty stew was carried to their nostrils. Mr. Masen had to stifle a laugh as he saw the dreamy look in the sergeant's eyes.

"Well, Mr. Masen, I am a hard-working soldier. And I was on my way to Little Lucy's see, but found that my pockets are empty. Some mouse must have chewed holes in them and caused the money I kept therein to have fallen out." Edward knew, of course, that there was no truth to Thompson's words. But the silly little lie was proper of a child, and he found it endearing in a way.

But Thompson was, despite it all, a rather proud man. And to simply invite him to dinner and wine would not work…unless one _insisted_, of course.

"Well," Edward said as he blotted his nose, the thing as always reaching for the sky. "I much like the food this establishment has, however poorly they present it. You know, sergeant, I really must have a word with the owner over the whole presentation of her inn. It could fare so much better if she put effort into it." He blotted his nose again with the perfumed lace handkerchief and looked deep in contemplation.

"If Lucy hears you, she will throw you into the pigsty, Mr. Masen," Thompson whispered with a horrid look of childish fear present in his features. He must have been witness to such a thing before. "She is a very determined woman," he added matter-of-factly.

"Aren't they all in this blasted town," Edward concurred. He turned to the fat sergeant and placed his closed fist determinedly on his hip. "But I could not possibly go in there alone, Sgt. Thompson. Will you not join me?"

Thompson's face lit up with joy. But he quickly and indiscreetly subdued his emotions. "Oh, Mr. Masen, I could never…" he trailed off. Yet, the big sergeant hoped Mr. Masen would offer again. The sergeant had learned that one should always decline on the first invite for it was only wanting!

Edward sighed. "Well, if you insist," he smirked and popped his hat back on, took his walking cane and moved for the inn.

Thompson stared after him in panic and rushed up to Edward. "Of course, Mr. Masen, how could I so blatantly refuse and leave you to supper alone?" he added with a hint of fear that he may not eat at Lucy's after all.

The gentleman turned his way and hid the tugging in his lips. "Indeed, not, Sgt. Thompson. I am thrilled you would deem it fit to join me, after all." There was no thrilling evocation whatsoever to the young dandy's thin voice. But Thompson did not notice, as always.

They both moved to walk into the inn, on one of its liveliest hours. Lucy shook her head as she saw the fop waltz in with his cane and his nose high in the air. She could not comprehend whatsoever what he was doing in her tavern. But, then again, it was the only acceptable establishment the town offered. There were no good tea salons that he could frequent…yet.

Lucy, like so many others, stared in silent amusement as the peacock and soldier moved to an empty table and the richer man proceeded to order for them.

As soon as Thompson had gotten the mead from S.t Nicholas into his system, Edward started questioning him, as casually as he could.

"I saw you come from Collins' office," he dropped in casual conversation. "I also heard about the deaths of those bandits in their cell." An expression of disgust and fear swept over the handsome but proud features of the young man.

Thompson downed the entire cup of mead in one swig and nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, Collins was furious such a thing should have happened," he added. "But good sir, I _told_ him that those soldiers were being cared for by excellent lancers. Forster made sure of it."

Edward held his tongue at the mention of Forster. "You mention him, yet I have not seen him today while passing through town."

Thompson took a big bite of his stew and spoke while chewing, making the contents of his mouth splatter all over. Edward leaned back, as not to come in the crossfire. "Well," the sergeant began. "I think he keeps away from Collins, Mr. Masen. After this whole affair. He seemed upset about the bandits."

Edward Masen arched an eyebrow. "Indeed?" he asked, leaning forward, risking his impeccable emerald stripped coat to become dirtied by Thompson's stew.

"Well, if I understand it correctly, one of the bandits acquired a weapon to pick the lock and then turned on his friends to kill them before escaping the garrison himself." Thompson sighed in defeat, with his mouth still full. "Tis all very strange, Mr. Masen. And I think it is wearing the major down. He looked near a madman when I mentioned that—" Thompson stopped himself; as if he realized he was saying too much.

"Mentioned what?" Edward asked, trying to keep the air of indifference. But he saw Thompson hesitate. "Surely such an esteemed soldier as yourself wouldn't mind letting this poor and bored gentleman know. I wish to keep myself as secure as possible, sergeant."

The words seemed to have calmed Thompson, for he nodded eagerly. "Remember when the ghost of Cullen entered the garrison and bested Captain Forster with the blade?" Thompson asked as a haunted look plastered over his features. An involuntary shiver passed him. No one noticed the smirk as Edward pressed his cup of wine to his lips, urging the sergeant to continue.

"Indeed, scandalous!" the dandy cried out in his thin voice.

"I mentioned to the major that Cullen—that rascal—had spoken with the prisoners and it suddenly got the major riled up. I have never seen the like in him. He is always so collected."

The words got Edward thinking as he settled back and let his slouchy posture relax. Thompson found that the dandy was not truly affected by his words, clearly only indifferent to them. But Edward had secretly grown pensive.

He looked down at his full plate of stew and at the almost full bottle of wine. Edward gathered his hat and cane and proceeded to stand up. "It has been a pleasant conversation, Sgt. Thompson. But I fear I cannot eat more lest I get reprimanded at supper back home," the young man explained. "I hope you will not be troubled if I ask you to finish the rest?"

For the second time that evening, Thompson's eyes lit up with joy as he reached for the plate enthusiastically. "Not at all!" he exclaimed.

"I trust you to finish the wine as well," Edward added with a small wink before going to Lucy to pay.

Thompson rose his cup high in the air. "To your health, Mr. Masen!" he shouted across the music and chatter of the tavern. Little Lucy eyed the dandy as he cast a few coins on the countertop. She held her tongue, nonetheless.

* * *

He wasn't coming and she was assured by his lack of showing that Jacob Black was not in league with Edward Cullen. Truth be told, it calmed Bella to some degree. She would not have to be stressed wondering if a bandit would sneak into her room in the wee hours of the night.

But she was also disappointed.

She needed to reveal the circumstances of Lucas Ridge's death.

Two days had passed since she stumbled upon Jacob. She had frequented Alice at her house and had the good fortune of not stumbling upon either her brother or older sister. Bella had not yet shared with anyone who had entered her room. It was her own treasured secret. And while her first encounter with the blackguard at Wilson's estate had been more than traumatizing, the second one in her chamber had been almost exciting.

The night was still young. She did not ride as much as she used to into Raven's Grove with the bandits now haunting it. The death of the bandits in the garrison circulated the town and hung low over it. Alice had mentioned it, having heard more gossip from Jessica Stanley and Angela Webber.

She gazed at the gardens from her balcony and decided to venture out to them. August was reaching its end and with its passing, would come the beautiful colors of fall. But she could still delight in the fresh nights of summer before they completely passed.

Her footsteps echoed as they contacted with the gravel and she passed the flowery bushes and purple lilacs and took in their scent.

By the end of her path was the weeping willow adjoined to the pond. In spring, it would bloom beautifully, and she'd sit underneath it and take in the sounds and perfumes of the early morning.

But now its pendulous branches swayed gently in the summer breeze, like nature's own curtains dancing by her will. It produced a smile in her. She picked up her lavender skirts and started walking the tour by the small pond, passing the tree. There was a carved marble bench there that her father had placed for her thirteenth birthday—so that she would not soil her skirts by sitting on the ground. But she much preferred the grass over the marble.

Bella Swan walked in darkness, the only light the millions of stars painting the night sky as they illuminated her way. She saw the branches sway and pushed past the green canopy, letting them caress her brow. She had forgotten how wonderful it could be to be so close to nature. She found the small slope that led to the pond and sat down. The young woman closed her eyes and rested her head against the fragrant grass, letting the scent of the earth burrow into her nostrils.

Even here she could hear the chimes her mother had hung by the back of their mansion. On the façade, she spotted her Juliet balcony, the green vines of the ivy twisting up the wall and around the swirling metal, her doors open, making the white curtains dance in and out of her chamber.

She never suspected it was there she'd meet him again, leaning casually against a tree, so early in the evening. The sun had set an hour or so earlier, at any moment a servant could happen upon them. Yet, he was there.

But she had yet to notice, of course.

He took her in as she reveled under the weeping willow, laying directly on the grass and disregarding the bench. The dancing branches swayed around her and it was a picture he was almost reprimanding himself for interrupting.

As the moment passed, she sensed another presence, for its aura enveloped her in its darkness. Bella sat up immediately and froze, a shiver passing through her spine. Just like in her chamber, she knew she was not alone there—that she was being watched. Yet, this time, the fear was not as prevalent. She would not let her basic and primitive instincts rule over her.

She hastened to stand up and turn around, spotting him leaning casually against the trunk of the tree, partly obscured by the many branches that hung from the willow.

Bella Swan stifled another shiver as she felt the intensity of his eyes burn her. She took a step back, despite herself and swallowed hard. She wondered if he had heard it.

The shadow—Cullen, for lack of a better word—contemplated her and she wondered if he would step toward her. Was she meant to break the tense silence that now passed between them? The casual air and contemplation in his stance were eerily familiar. This nagging feeling that she _had_, in fact, met this man before Wilson's estate was still present. But she could not pinpoint from where it stemmed.

Her resolve augmented once she realized he was letting her make the first move. The lavender skirts of her gown swayed as she stood her ground. She would _not_ near that thing, for he seemingly towered over her, even from a distance.

"I expect an apology." The beauty and tranquility of the night grew disturbed by her sudden speech. She had stifled her nerves before speaking, making sure her tone was even and calm.

An apology. What on earth was she thinking? Who in their right mind would demand anything from this man?

A subdued laugh rumbled from the depths of his throat and it caused her to jump in place. One short sentence and he was already amused by her. He uncrossed his arms and started moving toward her.

Bella put up her hand in defense. She had not expected it to be here that he'd seek her out and she was not ready. This time, there was no porcelain vase to use as a weapon. "Stay where you are, sir!" she demanded. And he noted the fear ever present in her voice.

He tilted his head to the side and did as she bade, not wanting to scare her further. A part of her wanted to hear that voice again. A part of her wanted to know if it would induce the same blush and mesmerizing fascination as it had last time—or if such a thing had merely been her imagination. Yet, her pride would not allow her to accept such feelings.

"How am I to apologize, my lady, if I cannot stand before you?" the deep voice rumbled.

Indeed, the blush crept up and her knees buckled slightly.

Her hands turned into fists. "You will be fine where you are, good sir." Then she arched an eyebrow despite her situation. "And I am not _your_ lady," she added.

Still, he neared her more, causing young Miss Swan to take a few steps back. "I do wonder why you wish for me to apologize, _my lady_," he insisted. She saw the whites of his teeth as he bared them in a smile.

The arrogance! she thought.

"You do not _know_?" Once her anger took hold, her fear subsided as she commenced in chastising him. "Maybe you have not been taught the proper ways this society works, sir. But men do not enter young women's chamber masked and _unchaperoned_." Her words made him laugh—as if it would have been completely acceptable if he had been there in his guise had a chaperone been present.

"You do make your priorities very clear, miss." He took another step toward her. "But why should I apologize for that?"

"If you do not, I will not hand you the note," she sneered, taking another step back. "That is why you have come, right?" She had given away more than she should have. Before speaking, Bella had held the advantage, for the shadow had not known if she had the note on her person. But he, of course, did not make that known to her in return. He played along charmingly.

"Ah, yes, the note," he nodded. As always there was an undertone of amusement to his velvety and smooth voice. She hated how well it caressed her ears, how it ran like honey.

"I do not know why you wish it, but before we have settled this score, I shall give you nothing!"

"I could simply take it. I searched your rooms rather well before you came back from that soirée. You must be wearing it on your person, aren't you?"

He knew she had gone to Ridge to clean out the apartment, for that same night he had gone as well, finding nothing of use. If Ridge had discovered something that had caused his death, it was gone—either taken by Forster or found by Isabella Swan.

The color drained from her face. "You wouldn't _dare_," she hissed.

Another step brought him closer to her. "Oh, I don't know. I've dared a lot of things these past few months," he remarked casually. His eyes trailed over her form, wondering how she would react. Thus far she had completely surprised him with her actions, and he had enjoyed their encounters very much. Especially the last one.

Bella could not pinpoint anything about him. His accent was neutral. He spoke casually; not too refined for a gentleman, yet not too rough for a common farmer. He could be _anyone_. Her eyes darted to his person, for want of finding a weapon. Yet he was bared, completely unarmed. How foolish, or arrogant, that he did not even carry a minuscule knife on him.

For the first time, she took a step toward him. "I seek answers as well."

"Do not get involved, Swan." His voice darkened now and held such a terrifying undertone that Bella jumped back.

"I know Mr. Ridge was murdered."

Oh, she should not have said that. From the distance, she could practically feel his eyes darken as he squinted them. She could feel his lips tighten and Bella gulped. She had spoken without thinking—said something Little Lucy had warned her about keeping to herself.

"_Never_ utter that to anyone else, ever again," he growled. His voice caused the ground to rumble, the wind to shy away and the stars to hide. Bella knew ghosts were not real, but right then it truly felt as if she was in the presence of one terrifying specter.

The young woman stood as if rooted, completely frozen after his command. Yet, she did not reach for the note. She no longer found the courage to ask what he would do with it.

"Y-you aim to take down whoever murdered him, do you not?" she whispered, daring again to break the tension. The shadow loomed over her and closed in. Bella could not ignore the frantic beating of her heart as he inched closer. He was only a few meters away and her eyes widened once she realized this.

Another step back was taken on her part, steadily descending the slope.

"Give me the note, miss, and I shall not bother you again."

"Would you even know what it meant?" she dared. When he remained silent, Bella straightened her posture. "Would you be able to find a message hidden in it? Or read between the lines?"

One meter was all that separated them now as he approached, and Bella was stunned at how tall and imposing this man was. She stood her ground, yet she shivered at his frightening figure. She saw the brilliant twinkle in his eye, the stiff line of his lips, the starlight dancing across his exposed skin.

The primitive part of her brain took charge just as it had done in her chamber and Bella wished to flee away from him; the broad-shouldered bandit, the ghost of General Cullen that towered before her. And she was about to take another step to run away from him when her slipper found nothing but air behind her. It was only then that Bella noted that behind her was the pond and that she was about to fall into it.

It would cause a humiliating scene and her chocolate orbs widened in panic as she started falling back. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as her arms flailed. When she was sure she was about to hit the water—painting an undignified picture for the man before her—a gloved hand reached out and caught her right arm by the elbow, preventing her from tumbling into the water.

She was dumbfounded for a second in the vice of his grip, hovering over the pond. His face was more illuminated by the stars, and she saw the starlight flash across the black mask, and his enigmatic eyes. Her heart skipped a beat as she caught sight of the dark orbs, how they regarded her with electric intensity.

He was touching her. And she felt his grip tighten. This man could be no ghost, for his touch was very real. She expected him to drag her up to safety from splashing into the water but saw that infuriating smirk spread on his lips.

"Now, my lady," he whispered deliciously to her, enough to make her shiver. "The note or my grip will falter."

The words caused her eyes to narrow. "Bastard," she growled, taking a look behind her back. There was no way to save her dignity. Would she rather fall into the water than hand him the note? Bella did not know why, but she could not bear him seeing her in such a humiliating situation.

"My, my," he mused. "Quite the temper you have, for such a distinguished lady."

"I am a gentleman's daughter and not _your_ lady."

He tilted his head to the side again. "Yet you share your name with Lady Isabella Swan, Countess of Cadherra."

She arched an eyebrow. "Aye, but only a name. Surely, you do not truly expect me to still believe you are Edward Cullen, the Lion of the North and Field Marshal of Angloa—the same Edward Cullen who perished in Raven's Grove and who was betrothed to Lady Swan of Cadherra three hundred years ago? Do you take me for a fool?" Bella now in turn snickered.

He loosened the grip on her elbow and let her fall before catching her by her wrist. The action caused her to gasp. "I don't know, _my lady_." He looked her up and down. "But what I do know is that the situation is not exactly in your favor.

She was resolved to _hate_ that smile, however charming it was. "Pull me to safety!" she demanded.

"The note first," he demanded back. "Or my grip shall falter."

Bella had never truly been so vexed. She needed to know where she had encountered this man before! There was a way about him that was too familiar.

"We have met before," she tried, steering the conversation away from the note.

He nodded. "Indeed, we have. Now, the note."

"I am not speaking about Wilson's estate."

She felt his grip on her wrist loosen and panic spread across her features. "Do not try to change the conversation, Swan," he threatened.

She pursed her lips, still unwilling to believe he'd let her fall.

"I will eventually find out who hides beneath that mask." His nearness had unexpectedly given her more courage. And the more vexing he grew toward her, the more her fear subsided, for now, she was truly infuriated by his tiering behavior. He would not give her any answers.

"Mayhap you will," he agreed. His other hand came up to her skirts and her eyes widened.

"Unhand me, sir!" she screamed at him in ire.

He found her pocket and Mr. Ridge's note within it. He took it out and she saw the triumphant expression flash across his eyes as the charming smile spread his lips once more. A look of mischievousness now danced across his eyes as he redirected his attention to her.

"With pleasure, my lady," he said and let go of her hand.

Bella felt herself fall and a look of betrayal etched its way into her features. She waited for the splash as she saw him disappear.

Yet, no splash ever came. Unbeknownst to her, he had tilted her away from the pond without her ever noticing. She fell into the soft grass, mere centimeters away from the water with a hard "_ouf_" as she hit the ground.

She heard his incessant laughter echo between the branches of the weeping willow and it was only then that Bella realized who this man was. She recognized that amused laughter all too well. It was the hermit she had stumbled upon on her rides within Raven's Grove. The same bastard who had deemed to call her little April fat.

"Infernal man!" she shouted into the darkness. A final chuckle followed until he was gone.

Bella stood up in anger and brushed her gown. How could she ever have been afraid of that pathetic man? At least he had not been an entire brute. He had not allowed her to fall into the water.

She looked at the darkness and felt lost. He had taken Lucas' note, there was nothing else she could do. He, like Lucy, had warned her to stay out of it. Which only made her want to dig even deeper.

The young woman turned around. There was no point in standing under that tree anymore and look like an idiot. The only question she'd had answered that night was that Jacob Black was, after all, in league with this man. If she could find Jacob, she might find Cullen.

And now she knew something more about him. Finding out that he had been the poor wanderer from the forest settled any doubt she'd had to him truly being Cullen. It was a wretched soul that, for some reason or another, had decided to masquerade as the dead general. She could not ignore the results of such a masquerade, or its effectiveness. But now that she _knew_, he did not frighten her as much. She was resolved that they'd meet again, and she would give him a piece of her mind.

Bella muttered as she started heading for the mansion again, only to find a terrified and blushing Sara in the middle of the gardens.

The young woman paled when she realized her maid must have witnessed most of the ordeal.

* * *

Collins looked at the flickering candle, watching the lonesome flame dance at the edge of his desk. Unconventional as it was, what other choice was there? If he could speak with this Cullen fellow, he might be ready to reveal to the major why he was committing such actions. Collins had a feeling that the man beneath the mask acted out of goodwill. He had saved Billy Black twice and delivered several bandits to them, after all.

"Question is how I get a hold of him," he muttered to himself while stroking his chin.

A gust of wind snuffed out the light of his candle and a dark voice filled the room; as smooth as velvet, yet harsh enough to make his hairs stand on end.

"I assume you are speaking about me," the dark and smooth voice said from behind him. Collins' office was in complete darkness and he got up in a huff, taken by surprise.

The major acted based only on reflexes and instinct and reached for his sword. He heard a whoosh and the sound of a knife embedding itself into the hard wood of his desk. The warning had been struck and the officer slowly sat back down.

"Who goes there?" the major demanded in a shaken whisper as he turned around. He could not discern much in the darkness of his office, save the outline of a black shadow in one corner, and the flash of white teeth as it smiled.

"Why major, you wound me." Metal caught the glint of faint starlight as it found its way through his window. The man held more knives, more weapons that may harm him at his will. "I thought you wanted to speak with me," the shadow said in rough tones. The pleasant smoothness was gone now. Collins sat frozen before the very man his soldiers had been struggling to find and capture for the last few months. This was the fellow who had mindlessly slipped in and out of the garrison on several occasions.

"I haven't told anyone. How would you know?" Collins demanded. Could this man read minds? How had he possibly gotten such information?

The figure shrugged its shoulders, still leaning casually against the wall. But the keen and trained eyes of the military mind noticed that the stance was ready. If it came to a scuffle, he'd not doubt it a second that Cullen would be ready to strike.

"I have my ways," was all Collins received as answer to his question. Cullen continued speaking at his leisure. "We both know why I am here. The infestation of bandits increases each week and now you have two bandits dead in their cells, and the other disappeared."

"This is something left for the authorities," Collins said sternly. "I admire what you've done so far but enticing the people with notes of _Audeamus_ is barely helping. We do not want to instigate a rebellion—"

"Then we must show the people some justice." The shadow sounded honestly irritated as it kept speaking. "The only show of caring the authorities did was when they sent you here, and what have you been able to do thus far?"

Collins held his tongue.

"I thought so," came the dark and ominous voice. "There is someone who steals and oppresses the people through Captain Forster. You yourself do not trust that man."

"Forster's mix-up in this is evident—"

"Forster was probably the one who had Ridge murdered," the shadow spoke.

Collins froze. There, it had been said. It was uttered so casually that the severity of its impact lessened. But the fact still remained that an officer of the Royal Guard had killed a lawyer to silence him for personal benefit. The thought alone scared Collins more than enough.

Cullen removed himself from the wall. "You need me, just as I need your help in this matter. I am not instigating the people to rebel for the sake of rebelling. But enough is enough. Before your arrival, the citizens of Hayes were bled dry from Forster's taxes. The money was never meant for Lord Newton, the captain has been filling his own purse for a long time. And now, he hires bandits to rob any merchants who pass through Raven's Grove and collects their loot for himself. Forster had those two men in your cell killed with poison."

Major Collins had to lean against the desk when a sudden burst of nausea made him weak. He had suspected it for a long time, but never truly dared to believe it. "How can you be so certain?" In any other circumstance, the proud major would never have trusted a masked man. But even before Cullen had sought him out, he had known—deep inside his heart—that much was amiss in Hayes.

"Because the third man escaped, and I found him."

Major Collins kept a mask of stoic silence on to hide the feeling of being utterly crushed.

"I see," was all he could say. He had yet come to realize that he had a bandit who had entered into the heart of the garrison with little effort.

The ghost of Cullen straightened before him and walked over to the opened window that Collins had not noticed opened before.

"I will gather the evidence and when the time comes, you will use it to take Forster and his benefactor down. You are a good man, Collins. This much I know. But know to be patient, if you strike too soon you as well may feel his knife in your back," the masked man warned.

The shadow leaped through the window before Collins could answer. He rushed up only to see that there was no trace left from the man. He had disappeared just like he had appeared, like another shadow in the night.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you as always for the amazing feedback on the last chapter. I hope you will enjoy this one as well. A reminder that the music I use as inspiration for this fic can be found on my profile (I have compiled lists!) if that should interest you. Also, I post here and there to my Tumblr: isabellesumnerff tumblr com - pictures that inspire my writing etc.**

**Wishing you a pleasant week, (finally spring here in the northern hemisphere!)**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	15. Chapter 15

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 15_

Bella sat stiff with a straight posture in front of Sara in her chamber. Both had been there in tense silence for the past half hour. Sara had seen most of the ordeal. She had been close to the gardens when she'd heard the irritated exclamations of young Miss Swan. The maid had gone running, thinking Bella was in some peril.

And in peril, she had been, but not the one Sara thought. The scene of that…_shadow_ still made her shiver. But Sara had noted that never once did he truly seem like he would have hurt her mistress.

"I hope none of this will reach the ears of my parents. Or anyone else in this house, for that matter," the young woman whispered. The windows to her rooms were shut, a few wax candles were all that illuminated the space, casting eerie shadows. Yet, silver beams pushed through, clashing with the golden flickers of the candles.

"Miss Swan," Sara said, licking her lips in a nervous manner. "T-that was him, wasn't it?"

Bella clasped her hands in her knees and looked to the side. "Do not worry yourself with it."

"But it was _him_! It was Cullen!"

"Schh!" Bella's eyes had widened. "I know who it was, Sara. I was there."

"What did he want, miss?"

Bella shook her head. "Please, Sara. Please leave it and never speak of it again. We will not be seeing that basta—er, man… we will _not _see that man again."

There were still so many questions passing through Sara's mind. Suddenly she blushed. She was at ease with the young woman before her, and even though she had always been shy, voicing her thoughts had always been natural.

"Has it not passed through your mind yet?" Sara asked. Bella noted a blush had spread across her features.

"What has?"

The maid fiddled with her skirts as she got up to leave. "That it should be you two: Isabella Swan and Edward Cullen, just like in the story from old. Forgive me for being so forward, miss, but I think it…romantic." With that strangled exclamation the maid turned on her heel and rushed out. The words, however, evoked an irritated flush within Bella as well.

"Rubbish," she murmured to herself with a wrinkled nose. There had been nothing romantic at all about their encounter. She got up, frustrated. What was romantic about a man threatening to throw her into the pond? Well, maybe not _throw_. The threat of falling into it, however, had been there.

She gritted her teeth. And he had _stolen_ from her. Taken Lucas Ridge's note. But she knew he wouldn't know what to do with it—if he could even read. There were few who knew Lucas Ridge as well as she did. To him, as it was to her, it remained Lucas' suicide note. Thus, it had no value in his possession.

Bella Swan smirked. He would be back. And even if he wasn't, she now knew where she might find him. He was that ill-dressed wanderer who had insulted her horse. He was nothing more than a glorified naturalist, she thought. He had been frequenting the lake and stream. Before summer was over, she might venture there and see if she could catch him during the day. Night may be his kingdom, but she could best him when the sun was out. Even more if it was in Raven's Grove.

And maybe, she thought, if she ventured into Raven's Grove, she might cross paths with Jacob. There were many questions left unanswered.

* * *

Jacob passed the slice of bread to the other man. Jonah took it and shifted uncomfortably. His leg still bothered him. The black eyes of the other man followed him in his every move.

Jonah could still not believe how lucky he had been in escaping. It had been a slip of luck. For just as a man in a hood had come alone into the garrison cell—in the dark of night, with a knife raised high above his head—Harry had fought against him and taken most of the blows.

Jonah pushed the dirty red locks away from his brown eyes and looked to the side, the memories still fresh. Harry and Sebastian were dead. He was not. The guilt was immense. Had Cullen not found him ailing in the forest, he might have been done for.

Jacob knew Jonah was a bandit, and he knew what he had suffered. But he still didn't like it that Cullen had taken an outlaw to their camp. Even less with the wounds his father had sustained. Billy was a bit more understanding.

"How often does he come here?" Jonah asked. He was surprised to learn that Cullen didn't camp with the rest of his men. The outlaw had also been surprised to learn that Cullen even had men. But he guessed it would be common; more and more people joined his cause the more tired with Forster they got.

"Three times," Jacob answered, biting into his food, staring at the campfire. "He brought food the last two times. And news of Hayes."

The outlaw hesitated, scratching the scruff on his chin. "Do you…know?"

It was a loaded question. The trees seemed to protest as the winds picked up speed, making the crowns dance. Despite having spent much time in Raven's Grove, he could still become spooked by the place.

"No," Jacob shook his head. "Not a clue." He cast a glance in the bandit's way. Jonah didn't get in their way and was helpful at camp. Jacob looked over at his father's sleeping form. He wondered if his old man would ever walk again. Weeks had passed since Billy's arrival there and he could still not stand up unassisted.

"What is your plan, after your leg has healed?" the young man asked.

Jonah stopped chewing and swallowed hard. He was reminded by his cousin Harry, and Sebastian; both his friends. They were gone now. Had they not been so desperate, they would have never found themselves in this situation. He could, however, not return to his wife and children. He was still officially an outlaw. Jonah didn't doubt that Forster had charged _him_ with the murder of his friends.

"I will not rest until Forster burns in hell," he growled.

Jacob's lips settled into a thin line as his black eyes trailed over the other man. There it was. A common reason that bound them together; hatred for the captain that had destroyed their lives. Jacob bit into his food once more, listening to the rustling leaves.

"He will burn, my friend. Rest assured."

It was almost a promise. They both knew Forster had to be taken down, they both craved it. Jacob hoped Cullen would keep them in his circle because he wanted nothing more than to help in whatever way he could.

Jonah seemed satisfied with the answer for he nodded in agreement. His right hand grabbed into the dirt, the action calming him. He swore before the heavens that Forster would see his own justice for what he had done to his cousin Harry and his friend Sebastian if it was the last thing he did.

A week had passed since her encounter with Cullen. September had commenced, and Bella felt her spirits drop as it announced the death of summer; her favorite season.

Not much had happened ever since her note had been taken. Collins had continued to gather his evidence, buried in his work, trying to chastise Forster. It was hard with the captain, for he kept questioning him more and more. There arrived a time when Forster completely disregard Collins altogether. And what could he then do? He knew that he would have to take measures before then.

Bella Swan would still frequently visit Alice. Rosalie McCarty was holding a farewell ball for summer, the last of the season. Bella was, of course, cordially invited. She did still not understand the oldest sister's distaste for her. But it was evident, even to a blind man, that Rosalie didn't exactly adore Bella and she didn't know why. Had she caused the beauty any offense? She had asked Alice at one point, but the young woman didn't know either.

She found herself, as per usual, outside of the Masen townhouse, knocking on the door. And, as usual, it was Joseph who opened it for her. Whenever Joseph opened the door, it suggested Edward Masen would be there as well. He never left without his trusted servant. Bella stifled a grimace as she nodded in a silent smile. Joseph let her in, but he did not take her to the parlor.

"Mrs. Hale thought the gardens would be a nice pastime for you today. And there appears to be some sort of sparring going on."

She arched an eyebrow. Her heels clicked against the wood of the floor and became muted once she walked over the Persian rug. Joseph rarely spoke directly to her.

Bella liked the parlor. When it was occupied—which was often—Alice would direct her to the drawing room instead. However, it seemed she had something else planned today.

The leaves were dark green on most trees and the hint of a chill could be felt during the morning or evening. Fall beckoned and Bella disagreed with it. Maybe Alice wanted to enjoy noon in her gardens before it became colder. The young woman wondered if she was to live at her parent's townhouse forever. Apparently, Alice and Jasper were looking to purchase their own home in the newer section of Hayes. The question of children had briefly passed during conversation. Alice and Jasper did not seem to be in a rush, at least not until things settled down. For them to start looking for a new home, however, thrilled Bella, for it would mean fewer run-ins with Rosalie McCarty and Edward Masen.

She walked the long hallway lined in portraits and vases together with a silent Joseph. He brought her through the parlor and opened the tall doors that led into the Masen gardens. The greenery was as exquisite as always, although the area was much smaller compared to her own back home. They had no pond, nor a weeping willow. And nothing could compare to her own gardens in that regard.

But there was a small stone platform in the middle that, apparently, would be cleared from furniture whenever Carlisle or Emmett decided to spar outside.

And this was such a day.

Bella stepped onto the grass where Alice met her. "Bella, I am thrilled you came in time!" Alice exclaimed. Her husband and brother were close to her. When Bella saw Edward, she had to look away. The memory of him in his soaked shirt was still too fresh. It was still too much to think he had such a physique hiding beneath his coats and cravats. She remembered his disheveled hair, how it brought a mischievous look about him—it was nothing like the mightier-than-thou air he would usually give off.

Edward Masen and Jasper Hale bowed to acknowledge her presence. It seemed Carlisle and Esmeralda Masen were sitting a bit further down, closer to the stone platform.

Bella squinted her eyes in the noon sun when her eyebrows suddenly reached to her hairline. What on earth was Major Collins doing here? And stripped off his military coat?

A sword was clasped in his left hand as the other adjusted the vest snuggly about his torso.

"What have I missed?" There could be no doubt that the young Miss Swan's eyes had just lightened up with a spark. Collins was about to duel either Carlisle, Emmett or Jasper.

Alice chuckled at Bella's expression. "Well, apparently Emmett has been looking for a new sparring partner since my father had an unfortunate accident on the stairs the other day and twisted his ankle." Before Bella could interrupt to ask about his health, Alice was already ahead of her. "He is quite well, Bella. But Dr. Blake has asked he not put any weight on it for the coming fortnight."

She looked to the side and saw, indeed, that Lord Masen's left foot rested on a small stool, elevated. He was in a pleasant conversation with his charming wife, his hand resting on the elaborate silver pommel of a cane.

"I do not consider myself to be an overly graceful sort of fellow," came a thin voice to her left. Bella bit her teeth together. "I have always known there was a small amount of clumsiness to me. Now I know it stems from my dear father," he drawled.

Alice couldn't help but laugh. "It is the first time I have ever seen him trip, Edward dear. You cannot blame your own folly on him," she brushed off in a playful reprimand. Jasper chuckled next to his wife.

"As you could have guessed, my brother in law needed to keep practicing and since my father cannot fence, Emmett has been on the hunt for a new sparring partner for three days."

Bella looked at Collins with renewed interest. "And he settled on the major?"

"My words exactly," said Edward with a bothered air. "Why drag in the military? We have a fencing master who comes once a week from Coldwick. I think it is more than enough—"

"Collins studied with La Boëssière," Jasper interrupted. "You can imagine Mr. McCarty's reaction at finding out such news."

Bella couldn't help but arch her eyebrow. It was impressive, that Collins should've had the privilege to study under such a great master.

"He must be exceedingly apt with the blade then," she whispered.

"If he is, he doesn't brag about it," Jasper agreed.

Suddenly, the affair was much more interesting. The only one seemingly uninterested was Edward Masen. They all sat down as Emmett and Collins took their stances. They did not wear fencing masks, to better be able to see their opponent's moves. It was indeed a serious affair. The only protective gear were the vests for their torsos.

Emmett and Collins waited with swords drawn, the tips dulled as not to provoke any unnecessary injuries. Collins looked at the spectators rather uncomfortably. When McCarty had sought him out after having heard he was apt in the sport, he had not expected the whole family would be watching. Even less so the young Miss Swan.

They waited for their signal and started fencing. It was cordial at first, each testing the boundaries of the other. The clash of swords hung in the air as they tested different tactics. Emmett moved around much more while Collins stood rooted where he was. Bella knew little of fencing, but even she was tense when watching both men. Yet, her untrained eye figured Emmett had the upper hand from the movements and how he pressed Collins back. Emmett fenced rapidly, while Collins blocked his every move. It seemed they were equally matched.

A pair of eyes that were taking in every miniscule detail, belonged to the one they'd never think held any sort of interest in the sport. Edward Masen masked his attention to the crossing of blades. Bella glanced over at him at one moment. He looked bored. A yawn reinforced such a sentiment. Utterly bored.

An exclamation of triumph sounded as Emmett disarmed Collins. His sword flung to the side, landing at Bella's feet.

Collins bowed graciously. "It seems I have been bested, sir."

Emmett looked at the major for a long while until his brow furrowed. "You didn't commit at all, major. This was child's play for you."

Bella and Alice gasped. They thought Emmett had been marvelous. How could it have been child's play for Collins? And why hadn't Collins fought fiercer? Was he trying to hide something?

"It was a pleasant fight, Mr. McCarty," Collins offered. Bella picked up the blade, feeling its balanced weight in her hand. She could never endeavor to master it as skillfully as Emmett had—or even Collins. She didn't notice Edward's eyes trailing over her.

"A rematch, major. This time I wish for you to fight. I do not wish for politeness, nor for you to hold back. Fence me for real. I will not take offense," Emmett urged. He turned to Bella and nodded—the cue for her to give Collins his sword.

She hesitated before stepping up to the platform. She blushed as he took the sword from her outstretched hand and then bent over it and kissed the back of it.

Alice fanned herself at the gesture. Carlisle furrowed his eyebrows and looked at his son, who seemed completely unaffected by the fact that Collins might be presenting some sort of competition for the young lady; not that Edward Masen had ever had a chance against the dashing major from the start. However, Carlisle would've enjoyed having young Isabella Swan as his daughter in law.

Bella nodded to the two men. "Good luck, gentlemen," she smiled, stepping down with the help of Jasper as he extended a hand to her. Bella was sat next to Alice and once more the men on the platform took their stances.

The tension rose as a chilling breeze swept past them, dragging some dried leaves off the trees. The clouds obscured the sun and the signal was finally given.

This time, the fighting was more calculated, Emmett was being tired out by Collins who still fought a defense. In the last two minutes, however, Collins turned the tables around. When Emmett was tired enough, he found his weaker spots and won the fight.

Bella gasped. Collins had indeed been holding back. She shivered at the confrontation, at the show of such fine swordsmanship. While Emmett was a fine swordsman, Collins was practically a master.

They all held their breath while waiting for Emmett to react. He was a proud man, as much was known to them all. They wondered if he would show irritation. But Emmett chuckled and shook hands with the officer.

"Bravo, Major Collins!" the gentleman exclaimed. Carlisle's eyes were wide, and a grin spread on his features. It was evident that, as soon as his ankle had healed, he too wished to cross blades with the major.

"We must make this a weekly exercise," Emmett insisted. "I admire your technique."

Collins almost blushed, such was his humility. "You flatter me, Mr. McCarty."

"Your skill with the blade is awe-inspiring," Emmett continued.

Bella, Alice and the rest had clapped vigorously at the show. They soon all sat and enjoyed some refreshments. Collins had stepped over to sit next to Miss Swan. He took in her beauty, the surroundings, the laughing faces of the Masen family. He appreciated being there, if only to get away from Forster and the problems he presented. Collins had decided, enough was enough. He would dismiss the captain from the Royal Guard at the opportune moment, he couldn't wait for Cullen to come forth with more evidence. Major Collins had more than enough evidence to show for Forster's misconduct and had already drafted the documents. If he could add the death of Lucas Ridge and also have the captain sentenced, it might draw out whoever was protecting Forster.

While Collins sat in pleasant conversation with Miss Swan, Mrs. Hale, and Mr. Hale, Emmett was silently contemplating him.

"You cannot _really_ be irritated that you lost to him," Rosalie said as she planted a kiss on his cheek and handed him a towel to freshen up and wipe off the sweat.

Emmett shook his head. "He fights formidably well, Rosalie," he murmured in a half-whisper, afraid Collins would hear. "So certain in his footing. However, even during the second time, he was holding back."

Rosalie arched an eyebrow and brushed a golden lock away from her face. "What are you insinuating."

"The height and build match, don't you think?" her husband continued. "He has access to the garrison—"

"You cannot be serious," his wife hissed in his ear. Emmett turned to face her.

"It could be possible," he said.

"This is why you wished to spar with him? Because you think he is _Cullen_?" The last sentence she said in an almost inaudible whisper, looking about her. Rosalie was afraid someone would hear her. But no attention was placed on them.

"Rosalie, he has access to the garrison, he knows the standard layout for one. He is a soldier, he knows the schedule for the lancers and sentinels. He could have come here to save Mr. Black before arriving himself as Collins. He is a major; isn't it strange that he was sent to a town like Hayes unless he requested it?"

"But at the Wilson estate he was there, at the same time as Cullen. Witnesses place him there, as Collins, not as that…ghost," his wife argued.

Emmett shook his head. "Maybe he has an accomplice—maybe Jacob Black was indeed involved in this. It would explain it, he could have given Black enough information to get into the house and search whatever he was searching for. Collins could have led the soldiers away to let this Black escape—"

"This is all very farfetched, my love," Rosalie uttered while frowning. "And if he were Cullen, what would that mean?"

Emmett hadn't gotten that far yet, as much was evident even to her. "We do not yet know, do we? Cullen saved Billy Black twice from the garrison. I overheard Jasper and Alice speak. They believe there is something afoot here. I think Cullen—Collins, is trying to unearth whatever it is. And I think it is tied to Forster," he continued.

Rosalie's lips thinned. "Emmett, whatever is going on, you have no obligation to get involved—"

Her husband looked irritated. "If we can help, should we not? I think he has put up this guise, this façade, instigated the people to take down Forster and whoever is helping him. You must have noticed it, Rosalie, how Hayes is becoming worse than before. There are more bandits than ever, and I do not think Collins can keep Forster in check much longer—not as a major, in any case."

His wife took his hand. She didn't know what else to say. Suddenly, a chill crept over her features, a premonition of fear, of terror. There was something afoot, and they were not the only citizens of Hayes to notice it. The mysteries of night haunted them. The death of Ridge spooked them. But most chose to ignore it. Why couldn't she and her husband as well?

"Leave it, Emmett. Promise me." He had never heard such fear in her voice before. But the look in her eyes; the hint of desperation that he wouldn't do anything foolish was enough to coil him.

He took her hands in his and kissed them. "Alright, my love. For you, I will. But I still think Collins has ties to Cullen."

* * *

"Mr. Masen, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were courting me."

Bella didn't look at him when she spoke, for fear of the reputable arrogance in his eyes. His hands rested on the pommel of his walking cane as the carriage took them, once more, down to the promenade by the foot of the mountains where the same river awaited them.

The following day, he had called on her just after twelve, to the surprise of her parents. But they had not argued as he asked for the young Miss Swan to follow him on another promenade. In fact, Bella had grown to appreciate their walks, for she got to see another more humane side to Edward Masen.

"Madam," he said as he dotted his upper lip with his handkerchief. "Wooing women is for simpletons."

Bella flared her nostrils and widened her eyes as a rosy blush spread on her cheeks. It took all her efforts not to burst out in laughter.

"Indeed?" she managed, in a strangled voice, still fighting fervently not to laugh.

He turned to her with nose in the air. "Why yes, a tiresome action that often bears little fruit. You, the female sex, will already have made up your mind long before anyone such as I start showering you with fine words and gifts."

"But, Mr. Masen, _would_ you be able to court a woman? Hypothetically, of course."

"Dear Miss Swan, I could not be able to call myself a true gentleman if I did not know that age-old art. But it is out of fashion. We men should not stand under balconies and serenade, or recite poetry in a fragrant garden under starlight."

Bella looked at her clasped hands, taken back to such a night—a night of starlight. But it had not been a courting she had experienced. It had been the roguish actions of a thief and a bandit. Not a lover.

They arrived at the promenade and he did not help her to descend the carriage as he stepped down first. Bella had not expected him to. There would not remain many more occasions to walk the path of the stream before it got too cold. The leaves had not yet turned, but the winds had picked up speed and the chill extended itself during the night. She no longer had to open her windows right before sleeping as the chill was too great.

Isabella Swan suspected Edward Masen had called on her once more to stifle some ire his father had with him. And she agreed to play that part. But she had made it clear during their ride that their little theatrics would go no further and that he should get no ideas. The fop had snorted at her remark and told her not to worry. Yet Bella had wanted to see how far she could press him. Thus, she had inquired if he was, in fact, courting her.

They walked on the worn path, passing others who partook in the sunny weather.

"You intrigue me, Mr. Masen, for now that you have mentioned at being such a master at the art of courting, I find I must see it for myself," she urged, stopping by the stream, by a tall oak tree.

The wind picked at his gelled hair and tousled his ridiculous cravat. The yellow of his coat screamed at her eyes and his ringed fingers gripped the cane harder. "I believe the young lady will be overwhelmed by my advanced skills in the art."

Bella arched an eyebrow as a faint smile painted her lips. "Even more the reason, Mr. Masen," she continued. "Or are you not up to the task?"

He had taken the bait, for he looked almost insulted. Edward Masen did not like to be questioned, and he liked to show people when they were wrong. Apparently, Bella Swan had to be wrong.

He guided her to the side, to sit on a boulder. "Now hear here, madam, how I shall make your heart soar, your eyes glitter at my words and your heart skip a beat or two!" he exclaimed with such lack of passion that she had to grit her teeth.

Bella already regretted what she had gotten herself into.

"Your eyes," he began as if reciting an old text that he knew by memory. "Your _eyes_." The man already seemed lost in his reciting. "Hmmm, seems this part eludes me." To her utter surprise, he went down on one knee before her and cleared his voice. "Oh, sweet Miss Swan, your teeth are like rubies and your lips shine like pearls…"

She brought up her fan to her face and could not stop her shoulders from shaking as she fought hard against the laughter. The other pedestrians stared at them in a funny way but did not tarry long after they heard his dreaded words, how he mixed up his verses and did not seem to notice—or care.

"The blush on your features, as red as the tomato, as…hmmm," he said again.

"Enough, Mr. Masen, enough," she choked. Tears had started forming. Bella was certain she was much redder than a tomato by this stage. "Lest I faint!"

He had read her completely wrong, for he thought himself successful. Edward Masen went to stand again with a satisfied smirk plastered on his features. Bella had to fan herself and control her breathing. It would not do either for her or for Mr. Masen if she burst out in loud laughter, lest the whole forest heard them.

"As I told you, Miss Swan, this is the effect my wooing has on women," he said in his nasal drawl, extending a hand for her to grab onto as she stood up.

"Oh, that I can definitely believe." She fanned herself further, her lips still trembling from the strain. Never had one fought so hard not to laugh or chuckle. "I must ask that you refrain from such actions again—" Her voice rose in pitch, followed by a loud snort as her mask almost broke. Bella had to turn around from him and bend over as she silently laughed into her hand.

"But you have been the most affected of them all, by far," he drawled. "I must have advanced further in my skills, to be able to draw tears of admiration with my words."

Another snort. It was almost as if he was saying such silly words on purpose. Bella was trapped between Masen's monologue of his mastery of courting and the pedestrians. She could not turn to face him until she had calmed further.

Yet, in the end, she managed to get a grip on herself. When she faced him, an eyebrow shot to his hairline. "Why Miss Swan, you look positively horrible. I have never seen such a strong blush before."

She nodded and urged him to return back to the carriage. "Your words…they were too much. I beg you never to speak them again." She had to tell Alice of this. Despite the fact that her brother was a pompous peacock that would dishearten his family with his foolish actions, Bella was certain that this little anecdote would bring tears of laughter to Alice's eyes as well.

Joseph brought them into town. They passed the statue of General Cullen and Bella could not help as her eyes were drawn to the grotesque appearance. She stifled a shiver.

"My, Miss Swan, you seem to have grown pale. I hope that a fainting spell will not claim you," Edward said, shielding a yawn with his hand. He was obviously not interested in her health, from what it looked like. But she could read that his eyes were more open, he leaned slightly forward, as if more attentive to her.

"Not at all, Mr. Masen." She held him with her gaze. Sometimes, it felt like Edward Masen hid behind a mask, just like Cullen.

Both turned around as they heard the joyful exclamations of Sgt. Thompson.

"Mr. Masen, Miss Swan!" he said as he neared them. "Beautiful weather we are having, eh?" he blinked. "Weather fit for a promenade, for some _romancing_." Bella was brought back to Masen's horrible attempt at romancing and promptly grew red once more. Thompson read her expression wrongly and gave Edward another wink.

"Tis good to see you, sergeant," Bella answered. She hadn't seen him in a while.

"You must join me more often in the tavern, Miss Swan," Thompson urged.

"Indeed, I must," she echoed.

"Sergeant!" a loud shout reverberated through the square. It was enough to send Bella jumping in her seat. Sgt. Thompson looked as if he had seen a ghost. The shout belonged to none other than Captain Forster and he was moving their way.

Both Bella and Thompson seemed dismayed as the frightening soldier closed in on them. Edward looked irritated by the bright sun and squinted in Forster's direction.

"You are not to lollygag with your friends, lest you want to spend the night in a cell!" the captain uttered.

Sgt. Thompson saluted. "Of course, sir!" But, alas, Thompson had not read between the lines and did not proceed to rush back to the garrison—not that Bella thought this man could do more than jog at a leisurely pace without getting winded.

Forster growled and directed his attention to the couple in the carriage as if to reprimand them. He held his tongue, however, when he noted they were people of stature.

"My good captain," Edward Masen began as he regarded the officer with a semblance of interest. "I do not believe we have met." He turned to Bella as if waiting for her to make the introductions. She stared at Masen like he was a madman, then felt the eyes of the mad captain search her form with a tug in his lips.

"O-of course," she swallowed hard. "Mr. Masen, Captain Roger Forster. Captain Forster, Mr. Edward Masen," she murmured in the shortest presentation ever possible.

"Charmed," Edward drawled with a bow of his head. "I have heard much about you."

Forster looked him up and down, genuinely intrigued by the peacock. It looked as if he were assessing him by the squint of his eyes and the wrinkling of his nose. "As have I of you, Mr. Masen." He had heard all about the Masen peacock. While Lord Masen, the father, might present a problem to him—together with both his sons in law—Edward Masen seemed the least harmless man to him in the whole of Hayes. Forster smirked. Nay, probably in the whole of Cadherra.

Bella sat frozen before the man that had caused so much havoc these past few months—nay years. For, ever since turning up at Hayes, the town had suffered under his rule of the garrison and its soldiers. Sgt. Thompson didn't look too thrilled either. Both figured that if they didn't move, they wouldn't attract any attention to themselves.

"They tell me, Mr. Masen, that your brother in law has begun instructing you in the art of fencing," the captain began. Bella didn't know why, but the air grew loaded as something unspoken passed between the two gentlemen. It was an animosity. What surprised her more, however, was that she could perceive the same energy stemming from Edward.

"Indeed," he nodded, his nose reaching for the air. He looked to be contemplating the sky, lost in its immensity and the people there present stared at him in confusion. In the dullness of his eyes emerged suddenly a light. "But really, captain, tis a tiresome affair. I never much enjoyed it at Oxford, you see," Edward lamented as he shook his head. He turned forward to both the captain and the sergeant with wider eyes. "Did you know there were even some duels among the students?"

Forster smirked, his hands clasped behind his back. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. Dreadful business, gentlemen," the peacock chanted to the sergeant and the captain.

"Yet here you are, still learning the art."

Suddenly Edward Masen seemed uncomfortable; as if he did not wish to speak of the subject. A triumphant look stretched over Forster's features—how he loved playing this game of cat and mouse with the people of the town, especially when they could do nothing to counter him.

Masen's eyes shifted from Forster to Thompson and, eventually, to Bella. "To be practically frank," he started. "Thus having to admit it to all of you and hope you will not divulge this little gossip to the rest of Hayes…I do it to please my father," Edward said; as if bothered by it. His nose wrinkled and his air grew tiresome as he wafted with his hand.

Bella had started fanning herself to hide the smirk of satisfaction that grew on her features. Forster did not seem content with the answer. He leaned in further. "_Why_ does your father wish for you to learn to defend yourself? Does he not trust in the Royal Guard to do so?"

"Why, you are a most reasonable fellow, captain. I shall have to take you with me next time he forces me into a session to reason with him. With this Cullen fellow roaming about, my father said one could never be too careful." A haunted look now spread across the powdered features as Edward Masen made the sign of the cross. "Heaven spare us from that man…thing!"

Sgt. Thompson nodded vigorously, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"Have you really had _no_ luck in catching the fellow?" Edward asked. Had it been anyone else, Forster might have taken such a statement as an insult. Bella held her breath as she waited for his reaction.

"He…eludes us, but not for long. He will eventually slip up and fall. They all do." The captain gave no inclination as to how he had reacted to the previous statement.

Edward nodded haphazardly. "Such is the life of a soldier, to worry of these things. But I am confident you and the brilliant sergeant will handle these matters with utmost grace," Edward added in his thin voice. Bella could not believe what she was witnessing. Why on earth was Mr. Masen _complimenting_ Captain Forster?

Forster looked at the popinjay for a moment; as if still assessing him. Edward arched an eyebrow back. It seemed like Masen had spoken of something unbeknownst to him for Forster seemed slightly insulted.

"It has been good to make your acquaintance, Mr. Masen," Forster eventually bowed with a stiff smile on his lips. Bella didn't know why her heartbeat was still so frantic. Mayhap it was due to being in the presence of such a horrible man.

"We must speak again, captain!" Edward urged. "And next time I shall endeavor to help you with your cravat," he said, pointing at the captain's throat.

"My cravat?" Forster frowned. "What is wrong with it?" he demanded.

"Why, my good captain, I have never seen such a floppy thing! I can hardly bring myself to look upon it. No, no, no, it will not _do_." The powdered face looked to be contemplating it as his nose rose ever higher into the air. "It will not do at all. I shall have my servant, Joseph, come over with a selection of my starched attire. For, where does society fall if our militia cannot even dress the part?"

Bella was flustered, keeping utterly still, hoping she would not be in the crossfire. Before anyone could speak, Masen turned to Thompson to continue his tiresome tirade. "The same goes for you, sergeant. I shall have to work harder with you," he argued. He looked the sergeant up and down. "Much harder," he lamented.

Forster suppressed a faint growl, but the previous tension had died away. It was as if he had finally realized the true fool that Masen really was. "That will not be necessary, Mr. Masen," the captain said through gritted teeth. "If you will excuse us, the sergeant and I must get going."

Both soldiers started moving for the garrison. Thompson's shoulders were sloped, and Forster looked stiff as he walked back.

"Such a pity," Edward tsked as he shook his head.

"Mr. Masen!" Bella exclaimed once the carriage started moving again. "You mustn't tease the captain so. Tis dangerous!"

He turned to her. In a brief second, she perceived something alive in those dull emerald orbs of his. It was there and gone like a flash. She wondered if she had not imagined it.

"The captain is just like any other man, I do not understand why you get so riled up about him," Edward argued with a wrinkled nose. "And it would be a crime _not_ to comment on his state of undress."

Bella looked at her clasped hands and finally let the smile and chuckle break through. Maybe Mr. Masen didn't know that he had thoroughly played and insulted the captain, but she had very much enjoyed seeing it first-hand.

"Don't do it again," she urged.

"Why?"

"Because…he is dangerous."

"My, Miss Swan, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you are worried about me," he said with an arched eyebrow.

There was a look again in his eyes and Bella almost felt her mouth drop as her heart went aflutter from it. She had never expected it to be stirred by such a man as Masen. A soft blush touched her features, but this time it was not from his silly wooing or his constant arguing about fashion and etiquette. It was from the way he regarded her, so straight on, so shamelessly.

She pushed aside her embarrassment and blush and arched an eyebrow. She remained silent as the carriage brought her to her home. The rest of the way, Mr. Masen kept lamenting over the state of undress he had witnessed in the soldiers. He argued he would take it up with Major Collins. Bella nodded without paying much attention, still thinking about that look he had given her. Her eyes darted up to his face, but it was gone; like it had never even touched his features, to begin with.

Maybe she had imagined it.

* * *

**A/N: As May goes on, I will have to focus more on exams and not be able to upload twice a week. I hope to upload at least weekly until June and then we should be able to go back to two chapters a week again ;) I am thrilled that you are enjoying this story and reviewing! Thank you for all the feedback and nice reviews :D**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	16. Chapter 16

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 16_

He got off his white steed as it was taken away by one of the servants. Collins used to frequent Mayor Wilson's estate rather often since before the _incident_. The mayor had kept away from the refurbished house like the plague, afraid to return. But after a few months, he felt up to par and once more resided within its walls.

Collins took in its usual splendor, never getting over how elegant and richly decorated the estate truly was. It was like being transported across the sea, to another country. It had been refurbished and restored even more since his last visit. Many of the adjoining houses did not look as run-down as once before. He walked through the vast twisting iron gates into the entry patio with tanned tiles that had been freshly swept. Collins stopped to enjoy the perfume of the late summer flowers and regard the twisting vines of the lavender wisteria—the flowers not blooming again until next year—and ivy as they twirled about the gates and pressed against the façade.

Wilson greeted him in the inner patio and led him to the sitting room, which he eloquently called the _sala_.

"Tea, spirits or wine, my good major?" Wilson asked as the major sat down.

"A glass of port will do me no harm, thank you," he smiled. Collins hadn't heard more news of Cullen ever since his visit to his office. He wondered if the outlaw was gathering evidence against Forster as well. He still doubted whether to present the documents requesting Forster's dismissal from the Royal Guard and Hayes. Alas, that would not draw out the man who protected him.

Wilson had been in Hayes longer than Forster, he had also been mayor longer than the captain had been there. Thus, Collins thought, he might figure out more about his captain before making a decision.

"What brings you here today, Major Collins?" Wilson asked as his chins bobbed with the flick of his head. His cravat squeezed around his neck and the buttons on his colorful coat seemed about ready to burst off.

"Forster, Mr. Wilson," Collins said as a servant brought around the port for both gentlemen.

"Oh, heaven spare me," Wilson grimaced. "Just thinking of that man—next to Cullen—will bring about another spurt of gout. No, my good major, let us not speak of him."

"I insist, Mr. Wilson. He poses a problem and I need to speak with you to gather information before making a decision."

Wilson nodded, growing paler the more they spoke. "Hayes has become unbearable—since before this Cullen fellow, mind you—still, unbearable. We are lucky to have you, for Forster ruled with an iron fist before."

"Do you know which officer sent him here? Or which office? Are you aware if he has any patrons or friends in Safeira or Wessport?" Collins asked, sipping his port.

Wilson looked pensive, drumming his fingers on his leg. "Well," he said, staring up at the ceiling. "He arrived about a year and a half before you did. The previous commandant of the garrison, Captain Clarke, met with an unfortunate accident." Wilson didn't seem to think much of it, but Collins straightened up at the new information. It had not been made known to him before arriving in Hayes—and, indeed, one might think it pertinent to inform the new commandant of the garrison such an event.

"Indeed?"

Wilson nodded with a sad expression stretching across his plump features. "A horrible affair. He had never been a good horseman, from what I could gather. But he was truly a gallant officer, much liked by the people here. He had gotten a new steed from the Isle of Cantabria. But it was a wild thing and he could not control it. It spooked, probably, on the road leading through Raven's Grove. He was traveling to Sorossa, to visit some relatives. He had left the garrison in the command of Sgt. Thompson."

Collins arched an eyebrow at the thought that Thompson could be in charge of anything. But he guessed the fat sergeant would be better at his job than Forster.

"They found him with a broken back that same day as the horse had darted back to town. He was in a horrid state." A pained expression passed over Wilson's features. "He was a good friend and I regret that he suffered much during his last few days ailing in his bed."

Collins looked down into his glass. "I regret to hear such a thing as well," he murmured.

"Captain Forster arrived a full month later. There are few who wish to take a post like Hayes. He came from Maesir, I believe—south of here. At first, it was not all too bad. But he found ways to test us, to see how far he could go before we would protest. I must defend myself in saying that I did protest against him, in the beginning." Wilson shook his head in a sad manner and shivered. The clock ticked in the background and the sala grew quiet. "It was not pleasant, major."

Collins pressed his lips together and downed the rest of his port.

"He is undoubtedly trying to do the same with you," Wilson argued.

"He is," Collins agreed.

They grew mute in the open sala, the wisteria branches peeking through the opened windows and the arched doors leading to the vast patio where Wilson's feast had been held. Both men regarded the floor, finding some sudden interest in it in the meek hope that it would allow them to further delay on the subject.

"I fear Captain Forster may be involved in Lucas Ridge's death," Collins braved.

Wilson downed his glass of port and bade the maid to bring the entire bottle to quench their thirst. "Have you shared this with anyone else?" the mayor asked in a faint voice, not yet able to make eye contact. Collins could hear the strain in it.

"No," the major lied. How would it look if he admitted to being in the confidence with the bandit Cullen? He did not think Wilson would go against him, but he did not wish for the short mayor to hold such knowledge over him.

The small gray eyes of the mayor looked up across the table to meet him, regarding him as if judging him. "Best leave it that way, major," he murmured.

Collins arched an eyebrow. It seemed Wilson was not surprised by this information he had just shared with him. "I take it then that you suspected it was not a suicide."

"All I know," Wilson started in his characteristically muted voice. "Is that the less we prod into these things, major, the better."

Collins understood then. Forster must have threatened Wilson to silence. He must have something over the mayor for him to fear the captain thus.

"But we cannot allow the captain to continue, Mr. Wilson."

"No, no we cannot. But I tried to go against him a year ago with no avail. What do you suggest?"

"I cannot say yet. Trust that when I have a plan, I may come to you. The civil office must support the military one. If the Royal Guard and the mayor openly stand against Forster, we may yet have a chance," Collins argued. He hoped Cullen might present some sort of evidence of Lucas Ridge's murder to reinforce his accusations.

"Indeed, tis a good enough plan. But I ask that you guard yourself in the meantime," Wilson urged. "I do not know how, but Forster has ears everywhere. Eyes as well. He is…a resourceful man."

Collins took it as his cue to leave, there was little else to speak of. "That he is, Mr. Wilson." Only in an insignificant town such as Hayes could a mere captain have claimed such an iron grip over the populace. "I do not doubt he has enjoyed this little rule over Hayes."

The mayor got up as well, straightening his coat and fixing his gray wig in place—the piece growingly out of fashion. "Let me walk you to the door," Wilson offered.

Collins nodded in thanks and they journeyed outside into the unforgiving warmth of the sun. Summer seemed to grip onto Cadherra, if only for a moment. Collins mounted his steed and left the estate more worried than when he had gotten there.

* * *

Around the grand mahogany table, the people of the Masen household sat eating their breakfast. The footmen lined the walls as the baron was the last to enter the room. Edward Masen was seated next to his sister Alice who kept rolling her eyes at his tiresome conversation. Her husband Jasper, however, did his best to steer his brother in law to his attention, so that his wife may find some moment of peace.

Mrs. McCarty and her husband were in playful and loving banter as they discussed some affairs in Safeira. Lady Masen's eyes lit up at the sight of her husband.

Carlisle sat down at the head of the table, next to his wife and daughter Rosalie. His son had come home late last night, and not spoken a word of it. There were few places to frequent in Hayes that would be open so late. The Stanley's kept good hours with all their guests, a respectable family although quite the gossip for most of the time. The other place was The Laughing Goose. But, Carlisle had it on good authority that his son had not been there. Normally, he would concern himself with Edward's whereabouts. He did not do it with the rest of his children. With the fact that his son had frequented the upper society of London and was used to its nightlife, he was now afraid that Edward might be urging a scandal with some young lady. _If_—and it was a big if—some young lady even wished to have him.

Carlisle regarded his son as his energy drained. As always, he had his starched cravat with his nose high in the air. His hair was perfectly gelled against his head with each curl perfectly placed across his forehead in a comical manner. The cut of his maroon coat coupled with the lace cuffs of his white shirt and the lace handkerchief peeking out of it was enough to send Carlisle's mind spinning.

The father was taken back to the day of Edward's youth, the days he had been reckless, running around, mounting his horses, jumping out and into trees, doing acrobats, fencing wildly with him. Although his appearance could, at times, tire Carlisle, it was not entirely the reason he was so dismayed at his son. It was Edward's lack of interest in anything, his constant nagging and complaining. Edward did not feel the need to accomplish anything, he was not spurred by emotion, moved by anything. He simply _was_. He lived each day as if it was a tiresome and bothering occurrence, only partaking in soirées to gossip with the ladies and speak of what he longed for. The only passion Carlisle had ever seen kindled in Edward's eyes had been when speaking of fashion or the big city life. It saddened the father for he had hoped to make a home in Hayes. And while the rest of them grew appalled by Captain Forster's tyrannical treatment of the townspeople, the strange occurrences of bandits in Raven's Grove, the high taxations or the strange appearance of this Cullen fellow, Edward seemed unbothered by it, unless it made for some sort of gossip that he may relate to Miss Stanley.

But even Miss Stanley could grow to be tired by him.

"Mr. Simmons says another pack of bandits was delivered to the garrison this morning. All were tied to their horses and gagged with a note saying Audeamus."

Emmett chuckled as he spread some butter on his toast. "I wish I could have been witness to such a feat."

"How many bandits?" asked Alice in an interested tone as she put aside her hot tea and leaned forward. Her black curls spilled past her shoulders. Jasper Hale looked straight at Carlisle with a rather interested air as well.

"Mr. Simmons claims they were six fellows, but that must be faulty. One man cannot take down six bandits," Carlisle mused.

Rosalie grabbed for an apple and started delicately cutting it on her porcelain plate. "Six or sixty, what does the number matter? What matter is that Cullen—whoever he is—must risk his life because the soldiers are too foolish and ineffective."

"Now, Rosalie dear, you are too harsh on Major Collins and the Royal Guard," Esmeralda reprimanded her daughter.

"I beg to differ, Lady Esmeralda," Emmett argued. "They are the Royal Guard, they are placed in each town with enough resources to protect us, civilians. Yet, they have not been successful in their endeavors to take down these bandits. With Captain Forster constantly breathing down Collins' neck, there is little he can do."

"I do not believe he is breathing down the major's neck. Collins is his superior," Alice frowned. She had stopped eating and a wave of tension extended about the dining room.

Emmett leaned back in his chair, his broad shoulders squaring further. "You cannot argue, Mrs. Hale, that Forster seems to disregard completely what the major orders him to do. We all know how he behaved here before Collins came—what he did to Mr. Black."

Silence stretched itself across the table. Alas, there was one who did not seem to take the hint that the subject was best left alone. "Well, _I_ think that is unjust, McCarty. I find Captain Forster an interesting sort of fellow. Now, do not get me wrong, he has a terrible taste in fashion and ties a horrible cravat. But he makes for stimulating conversation," Edward Masen said with his nose up in the air.

The tension grew tenfold. Alice shivered as she caught the death glare her father was sending Edward's way. Esmeralda's hand found Carlisle's as she tried to calm her husband, but he boiled beneath the surface.

"Move yourself from my sight, Edward," Carlisle murmured in a desperate attempt to control his ire. Indeed, Edward's remark about the much-detested captain had been the last straw.

"Father, why do you bother so? I mere commented on Captain Forster's—"

Carlisle slammed his hands down hard on the table and looked at his son with a terrifying expression. Edward had never seen his father thus, and for the first time since his arrival, the popinjay did as his parent said and obeyed. His mouth pressed together in a fine line.

"Your behavior thus far and your overall arrogance I have tolerated because you are my son! But you _shame_ me by keeping such an acquaintance, and by _associating _with such a sorry excuse for a man!" Carlisle roared.

One could have heard a pin drop in that vast room. Esmeralda stared down at her lap while Rosalie kept looking to and from her husband, unsure of what they were supposed to do. It was an uncomfortable situation for all. But Alice Hale had to be suffering the most, for she detested seeing her father treat her older brother thusly. It provoked a shiver in her lower lip as her husband held her hand and tried to comfort her as best as he could.

Edward remained silent but under the table his hands squeezed into fists.

"Captain Forster plays king of Hayes and treats the people here as his subjects to torment. How can you ignore this?" Carlisle stood up, the chair scraping against the floor and flying back from the violent action. "You are blinded by your frolicking, by your ridiculous laced cuffs and starched cravats and your sighs for London. Well, if you ail so much for England you may go back!" he spat. "For a man to be keeping relations with someone like Forster is no son of mine and dishonors my name."

Edward Masen stood up as well, his moves a tad stiff. He looked straight at his father. The dull look in his eyes had disappeared completely, the emerald orbs had never looked clearer. There seemed to be a knot lose in the impeccable mask of indifference that he always sported. Carlisle saw past the rouge and powdered façade for a split second and he knew that Edward had been wounded by his words.

For a split second.

Then the eyes dulled once more, and the nose turned up. "I shall remove myself from your sight, as you have wished it, father," he mumbled in a subdued voice. Edward bowed to the rest of his family and turned around, opening the door himself as the footmen dared not move for fear that they would attract the ire of the baron.

Carlisle saw his only son exit the dining room and his head fell down in defeat. When he looked up, he felt the stares from the others, but no one seemed to dispute his treatment of Edward. It was as if they were torn between who was right: the father or the son.

Yet, Carlisle could not ignore the second of change he had seen in his son, and it unsettled him.

* * *

She regarded the eeriness of the woods in front of her. It would be one of the final chances she'd get to venture into Raven's Grove for the season. Soon the autumn rains would beckon, and it would be dangerous to slip in between the trees. One might encounter floods or marshland that had not been there during summer.

Bandits had plagued the King's Highway that lead through the forest to the neighboring province of Sorossa. But maybe she might not stumble upon those bandits if she kept off the road. Bella was desperate for a final chance to ride around in the Embrace. Now that she knew that Cullen wasn't truly a dangerous man, simply an arrogant one, she did not fear him as much.

April took her through the canopy early in the morning, with the chirping of birds. Some leaves had started turning at the edges, another sign that the end of summer was nigh. As she let her mare stretch her neck, Bella contemplated the discussion she'd had with her parents the previous night.

With Hayes growing so unstable during the last few months, they insisted she travel with Mr. and Mrs. Hale to Safeira for the season; from the middle of January until the beginning of June.

However, Bella had no wish to venture to the capital. Even if Alice had begged her to go, she had wrinkled her nose. "I have no designs there, Alice, I have no need to socialize with people who will disapprove of me." Bella was still, after all, new money whose father had bought a title. They would not accept her, even if she was on the arm of Count Newton himself.

What she had accepted, however, was to venture on a short trip with Alice and Jasper to Zafra, the southernmost city of Angloa. Bella had heard much of its beauty and she—who had never left Hayes—wished to discover the exotic south further. Southern Angloa reminded more of Spain and Portugal than its middle and northern counterparts, that had much more of a decidedly French and British influence.

She pushed past a branch as the heavy foliage obscured much of the road. Yet, April was certain in her footing and more agile ever since her mistress had reduced her food. Bella and her mare soared through the forest and relished in its mystery.

She passed the abandoned cabin and knew that in a matter of moments, the Embrace would shine before her. Soon enough, the delightful meadow swayed gently in the breeze. Much of the grass had grown tall throughout the summer and April delighted as Bella allowed her to roam free for once.

Bella Swan sat down where the grass was shorter and stared at the clear sky, suppressing a shiver at the surprising chill. She had put on a maroon coat, suspecting the cold might sneak up on her.

She eventually fell asleep under the bare sky and did not wake until later, when the sun was already descending, and a hand gently tugged on her shoulder.

The young woman darted awake at the presence of another in her secret paradise. She turned around heftily, taking a defensive stance, ready to dart for April if the situation required it. The young woman felt the scent of earth and dry grass push into her nostrils. She squinted her chocolate eyes as she was met by the smiling black orbs of Jacob Black.

He dressed in worn and shabby clothes. He wore a stack of wood slung over his shoulder as if he had just cut it and was carrying it back somewhere. His long hair was loose and there were a few smudges of dirt here and there on his sweaty forehead. His brown leather vest hung open and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up. He suspended his weight casually on his left leg and hip. Jacob looked surprised yet genuinely glad to see her.

"Bella!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing in Raven's Grove?" He looked around, wondering if she was alone, yet when he saw no one, she noted how his stance relaxed further and his shoulders slunk down.

She frowned, growing slightly confused. "I might ask the same of you, only I suspect I already know the answer."

They stood awkwardly in tense silence for a moment, until Jacob shifted his weight and spoke once more. "It is good to see you," he mumbled while looking at her. Bella had noted a wave of anger ever present in Jacob ever since the imprisonment of his father. She suspected he held a bitter resentment toward Forster for what he had put Billy through and a bitter contempt for the judiciary system as they couldn't help either him or Billy. But now, standing out in the open, surrounded by the grace of nature, Jacob Black seemed at ease, as if he was no longer weighed down by such feelings of ire.

"You as well," Bella smiled. "How fairs your father?" She suspected Jacob had left it all not only to join Cullen in Raven's Grove, but to care for his father, who was still a runaway from the law. Her words made Jacob's features darken slightly. "He…Forster was worse on him the second time. I took him to a friend in Sorossa who now houses him for the winter. Father…was badly wounded by the captain when he escaped the second time, I fear he will not walk again."

Bella stifled an outcry. "Heaven have mercy!" she exclaimed. "Is it that bad?"

"He is fine overall, Bella. He cannot seem to stand up anymore, that is all. His legs move, but with great difficulty."

Bella felt guilty, the pressing weight of such a feeling claiming her as she hugged herself. Her lose tresses danced in the wind as a hand rested heavily on her shoulder. "Tis not your fault. If anything, I am grateful that you were one of the few who tried to help us."

"The whole affair with your father was a fiasco." There was no denying it and Jacob nodded in complete agreement.

"Mr. Ridge paid with his life for it, my father got lucky in that sense."

"Then you know," she stated, stifling another shiver, but not from cold. "I know all…about Mr. Ridge, that is."

She felt the black eyes regard her as if trying to read her expression. Jacob and Bella had been friends since infancy, yet even now—due to the strange circumstances—he did not know how much he could say.

"I know _he_ came into your chambers," Jacob stated. She noted a hint of annoyance lacing his voice.

She arched an eyebrow. "You keep distasteful company, Mr. Black. That man is a blackguard of the worst sort."

Jacob scratched the back of his neck. "I was not too pleased to hear it when he told me."

Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward eagerly. "Do not tell me you _speak_ with him?" she cried. "Honestly, Jacob!"

He squared his jaw as his nostrils flared slightly. "I…well he saved my father…and me as well. And that man is the only one going against Forster, not blinded by bureaucracy and such. He dares take down a tyrant and question the system."

"Has he shown you the note he _stole_ from me yet?" She crossed her arms and expelled an irritated air about her. She shifted her weight and guarded herself as a gust of wind pushed against her.

"We have looked at it several times together. I…cannot see how it would be used as evidence."

When Bella started smirking in a satisfied manner Jacob frowned. "I told him it was only a simple note, that he wouldn't find much in it…unless he asked me." She started pacing around Jacob until finally sitting down on a boulder next to him. "Although I must admit to being surprised that you didn't manage to unveil more of it either."

"Well, tell me now and I will relay the message to him—"

"I discovered that note, I cleaned out Ridge's study, I read between the lines. No," she shook her head. "If he wishes for my help then he can come and ask me nicely." She had to abstain from letting out a wicked laugh. How would Cullen react once she revealed that she _knew_ who he was? How would the proud "general" quip with her once she revealed he was nothing more than a glorified hermit? She was already looking forward to it.

Jacob frowned, obviously not aware of the underlying context. Yet, the look of satisfaction spreading across her features produced a chuckle in him. "Fine, at your own peril."

This time, if they met in the gardens, _she_ would kick him into the pond if she could.

"I miss our talks and banters," she sighed. "I miss having someone I can share my real thoughts with."

"I do too. You know," he continued. "I remain in Raven's Grove, although it would be dangerous for you to come out here to meet me all the time. Maybe we can find a way to meet in Hayes?" he said as if thinking out loud.

"Why do I have the feeling that you are not able to show your face in Hayes anymore?"

He readjusted the logs on his shoulder. "Right before leaving, Forster sought me out and was about to take me into the garrison, but my neighbors managed to put him off it. Do not ask me how, I think they threatened to tell Collins, and Forster did not wish to go up against him. I had time to close down the house and flee here, to Raven's Grove. If I show my face around town, Forster will no doubt take me in for questioning. If that happens, I do not know if I will ever leave the garrison alive again. I will not take that chance, Bella."

"I see," she breathed. "The situation in town grows worse and I actually think Captain Forster is trying to go up against the major," she shivered.

"He needs to be taken down before the situation gets out of hand."

Bella nodded. Then, how could she and Jacob meet without causing too much suspicion? A light went off in her head as it spread across her features. "What about St. Nicholas, outside of town?"

"Weren't they renovating that church?" he asked.

"They finished last month, a few weeks after you left. Think of it, it is not used as frequently as the one in town due to the renovations. Frankly," Bella continued. "The friars there are sweet and rather discreet. They would not say it out loud, but I have no doubt that they'd support your endeavor. I think Friar Nathan, if anyone, would welcome a follower of Cullen. We could arrange meetings there in the confessional!" she exclaimed. "Friar Blackwood would allow it, I am certain! Oh, Jacob how exciting!" She felt like she was partaking in an adventurous novel when planning such a meeting with Jacob.

"I do believe you make a point. If you go and seek out Friar Blackwood, and he would allow you to house such meetings with me, have them ring the bell three times and I will know that I can come."

"I am leaving for Zafra next month, but I return in winter. We must meet then, Jacob."

"This is perfect, you can keep me informed on what goes on in Hayes."

Bella was at ease knowing he was well and in safety.

"Then I shall venture there." She started making a move to return home for it would be dark soon. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Black," she blinked as she went for the reins.

Jacob shifted his weight once more. "And you as well, Miss Swan." He saw her mount and it was soon that she was on her way. He saw the trees of Raven's Grove swallow her and he sighed with a small smile still plastered on his face even after she had left.

* * *

The last flecks of sunlight were gone, Hayes settled into her sleepy calmness. On the surface, it was the same tranquil town as always. However, underneath it, it boiled vigorously.

April was tired after a full day out in the meadow, her stomach bloated so much that Bella had to loosen the strap of her saddle considerably. She was guiding her through the tight little streets of the central part of the town when she stumbled upon the first evening patrol, headed by Sgt. Thompson.

"Miss Swan!" the sergeant exclaimed gleefully.

The color drained from her face. Oh no, how would she explain this? It would look rather suspicious if she revealed that she came from Raven's Grove. The curfew was still in place and she didn't know if Major Collins would take kindly to her roaming the woods in the darkness, especially not since it was now famous for housing bandits and Cullen.

"Sergeant," she smiled, forcing it quickly to stretch across her features. "It seems I've exceeded my stay a bit too long perhaps. Do not worry, I am making my way home." Maybe he wouldn't ask where she had been and merely assume that she had either visited the Stanelys or the Masens.

He looked puzzled at her and his soldiers stood around, irritated and keen on continuing the walk. The quicker they were done, the faster they could kiss the soft pillows of their beds.

"Miss, you look like you have been rolling around in a meadow the entire day. And your little horse! She looks to be carrying a foal!" the sergeant exclaimed with little tact. Bella swallowed some choice words and forced the smile to remain.

"I fell," she lied. "And April was rather well fed today. Listen, sergeant," she said while closing in, looking at him rather keenly. He walked over with her away from his men, leaning in eagerly. "I would indeed appreciate it if you did not tell your superior officers that you found me in such a state. I look rather tousled, don't I. I'd consider it an embarrassment that Major Collins and Captain Forster should know what a bad rider I am," she begged.

The sergeant did not understand what she was asking him to keep quiet about. Yet, he trusted fully in her words and nodded heftily. "I shall be a tomb, miss!" he exclaimed.

A satisfied smirk spread on her features. "I know you will, sergeant. Maybe I should invite you to a glass of wine at Lucy's, I haven't frequented The Laughing Goose as much lately. I also do believe you are overdue for some of Dory's meat pies before I leave for Zafra," she continued, turning the attention away from her and to alcohol and food. It worked like magic, for the eyes of the big sergeant clouded as he started salivating at the mere thought.

"Mmm, yes, meat pies. That…that sounds rather lovely, Miss Swan." He looked dreamily into the distance and she heard his stomach rumble.

"Then, sergeant," she urged as she took the reins of April once more, preparing to make her way home. "I bid you a good night!" she said, walking away from the heap of soldiers. Bella Swan received some curious glances from the corporal and the rest of the lancers, but they had not heard the exchange. However, by the look on the sergeant's features, they could only guess what had been spoken of between the two and most started rolling their eyes.

Upon making her way through the remaining narrow streets of central Hayes, Bella stumbled upon another familiar figure.

Mr. Ridge's maid had kept to herself ever since his death. She now served the new tenant of the lodging. Alas, she lamented that the new man, a blind old man of advanced years, was not the same. Mr. Ridge had been so kind, so thoughtful of her, always provoking a chuckle or two. Sometimes, he would drive her mad with the way he kept his rooms. But Miss Maria Haste had liked him all the same. Out of all in Hayes, she had found it the hardest to accept his passing.

"Miss Haste!" Bella uttered surprised. "What a delight to find you here, even at such a late hour!"

Maria's eyes darted about both women; the young woman jumpy—as she had always been. Bella took in their surroundings, they were overshadowed by the overhanging of the houses surrounding them; by the balconies that jutted out and practically touched the opposite house on the other side of the street, such were the narrow streets right in the heart of the medieval town.

"Miss Swan," Maria acknowledged as she curtsied.

"How fair you, Miss Haste? How is the new tenant?"

"Oh, there is little of interest to say on my behalf. I manage, and Mr. Jensen is very kind." Unspoken words of comparison between the new tenant and Mr. Ridge hung uncomfortably in the air. Maria fiddled with her skirts, a shade paler than usual.

"How are you, Miss Swan? One hears you are being courted by Mr. Masen."

"Oh, good heavens no," Bella exclaimed and put up her hands in protest. "Tis merely a friendly acquaintance…" she trailed off. The young woman had started perceiving the maid before her more in-depth. What _was_ she doing out so late in the evening?

"I might wonder how Mr. Jensen has you keeping such late hours," she frowned.

Maria's eyes widened, and she became rather defensive. "Indeed not, Miss Swan. I had quite a lot of work to catch up on…I must confess it has been hard seeing Mr. Ridge's lodgings taken over by a stranger and I have not been…myself," she lamented in what Bella supposed was honesty. But something lurked beneath the surface, an unease on the part of Maria.

Bella closed in on the older woman and placed a friendly hand on her arm. "Miss Haste, if…anything is wrong, or you find yourself in any sort of predicament, the doors of my home will always be open to you," she said.

Maria forced a chuckle. "Tis simply a long day's work that has me looking so strange, Miss Swan. Think nothing of it," Maria said. April flickered her ears, impatient to get going. "Coincidentally," the maid continued as if keen on changing the subject. "I have passed a few times by the Goose. Lucy has asked for you a few times. It seems she misses your frequent visits."

"Indeed, I miss her as well. The past fortnight has been stressful, and I have not been able to visit Lucy as much as I'd like." A gentle tug at her lips warmed her entire face and Maria couldn't help but be affected by it as well. Miss Swan had the fortunate gift to invoke laughter and joy in whoever crossed her path. She could see why Lucas had taken such a keen liking to her.

"You should hurry, Miss Swan, lest Lucy gets into one of her moods and decides against you," Maria teased.

"Indeed, you are right. I should spare myself the pain of her wrath and seek her out within the week!" Bella promised. She had been steered away from their previous conversation and didn't come to think of it until she was getting ready to retire for the night.

She gathered April's reins. "Well, Miss Haste, I shall have to get going lest my parents give me an earful," she smiled

Maria stood, uncertain in her countenance as if something lingered on the tip of her tongue. There was something she wished to say to Bella, but an internal strife was now underway, deciding if she should do so or not. Before Bella left, Maria sprang to her and hugged her awkwardly. Bella was about to give a surprised exclamation and chuckle when Maria pressed her mouth close to her ear.

"_Two birds and a saint_," she whispered so lowly that Bella almost didn't catch it. The strange sentence had her even more confused. "Well then, Miss Swan, I shall see you soon!" Maria said as if she had never whispered to her. She ignored their previous familiarity and was off, urging Bella to act the same. She returned baffled to her home, avoiding her parents and heading to her room, not thinking more of the words.

She stared at the flickering lights of the wax candle placed by her nightstand as the jumbled thoughts ran through her head. In the morrow, she thought, she had to write down this whole mess and try to sort it out.

Bella blew out the candle and closed her eyes, soon drifting off into an uneasy sleep.

The following few days saw much tumult at the Masen townhouse as they readied for the autumn ball Rosalie McCarty was preparing. The place had grown so unnerving to a certain Edward Masen, that he spent most of his time on promenades with Bella Swan, or frequenting the perfumed parlor of Jessica Stanley. Gossip around town was that the fop tried desperately to court both women but to no avail. While Miss Stanley was known as a fashionable coquette, Bella was more famed as the levelheaded girl who all liked. They all laughed at the mere thought that she should ever accept a courtship from Masen. Edward was ever only seen as an acquaintance to her and Bella reinforced that statement.

While her brother had fled the townhouse, Rosalie found herself to have taken water over her ears as she one day had forced her entire family to help with the decorations, to make the process develop in a faster manner.

"Rosalie," Emmett sighed while rushing behind his wife.

"Out of the question, Emmett!" Rosalie cried past her shoulder. She directed the footmen in preparing the western part of the ballroom they had in their townhouse.

"But it could be _fun_!" Emmett urged.

Rosalie turned around to another footman who was holding two different types of plates.

"The left set for the dining room, the right for the garden," Rosalie said as she brushed her hand nervously up and down her skirts.

Alice came running with a mass of cloth in her arms. "Oh, Rosalie I couldn't decide on which—"

"The white laced one. Leave the embroidered one behind," Rosalie said without looking up. Alice nodded heftily and hurried back.

"She said the laced one!" husband and wife heard Alice shout as she disappeared.

Esmeralda was directing the maids to prepare the table in the dining room and stack them for the dinner. A total of fifty guests would come. Their townhouse was modest in size and some would have to sit in the garden at a smaller table. Rosalie wrinkled her nose at such a solution, but it couldn't be helped. She had decided that those she liked the least would be shown to that table. After dinner, the ballroom would be made available for music and dance until their heart's desire, which could be the entire night. She wanted not only to outdo the gatherings and parties of the others, but she also wanted to inspire awe in them—show them how it was done in Safeira.

It had to be the best.

"You are not demonstrating your swordsmanship with Major Collins. I will not have any duels, for fun or otherwise at _my_ party, Emmett!" she hissed, running her fingers through the lock resting across her right shoulder.

"It should serve to liven it up—"

Rosalie turned around and looked about ready to strangle him with her bare hands. "Try to liven up this party, dear, and you will find yourself five meters underground tomorrow morning, buried in a coffin!" she said in a strangled cry before breathing deeply through her nose.

Emmett shut his mouth immediately, almost growing afraid of his wife. She turned from him and exclaimed in irritation as a group of maids was placing the autumn decorations wrongly in the foyer.

He stared after the train of her taffeta gown and frowned.

"The key to a happy marriage, is to do as she wants," came a voice from behind him. Emmett turned around and almost collided with Jasper as he balanced a stack of plates.

"I think she has gone insane."

Jasper shook his head and placed the plates on a table to the side in the dining room. "No, not insane, only nervous. She wishes to give the guests their ultimate experience. The level in Hayes differs from Safeira. Alice remarked on it, Rosalie is throwing a Safeiran party, not a Hayes one."

"Who are we trying to impress?" Emmett wondered out loud.

"I have no idea," Jasper chuckled. "But I agree with her on the fencing part. It would not do to have you fence with Collins here, no matter how entertaining you think it may be."

Emmett sulked.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews and feedback on the previous chapter! And thank you so much for the encouragements I received for my exams. I only have a few left now until June as well as my Bachelor's thesis (French linguistics yay!). Therefore, please bear with me as I may still upload weekly or maybe even every ten days. I'm really trying to stick to the schedule (I have the chapters written but I always go over them and want to change details that may be important later on in the story and therefore a big plotline ends up changed, I might add or take away scenes etc.) If you find any grammatical faults or anything that appears wrong, please let me know (as some of you did last chapter. Shoutout to you! :D )**

**Anyways, I'm off to continue with my thesis now. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	17. Chapter 17

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 17_

She pulled on the reins right in front of the little church. St. Nicholas had been built in the 16th century, a few years after King William Fell had ended the war of succession and won back the throne from his usurping sister. A friar that had fallen into the good graces of the king—even to the extent of holding the king's marriage ceremony to one Lady Isabella of Adelton Hall—had earned the gift of a new church outside of Hayes. Yet, the friar was humble, and the church had not been a grand design on his request. He merely wished for a place of worship where all could come and feel safe. It was also there, adjacent to the church, where he had kept his bees for mead-making and up until this day it was still widely sold to the rest of the country—even overseas.

Alas, thirty years ago, a forgotten stack of candles near the wood panel of the altar caused the piece to catch on fire. Almost the entire place burned to the ground, save the bell tower and the entry. It was left alone as most people in Hayes chose to venture to the churches in town. However, the years passed, and the townsfolk were saddened by the ruins of their beloved St. Nicholas. Together with some funds from the Catholic church and the noblemen of Cadherra, St. Nicholas was to be rebuilt and modernized. In the summer of 1794, after almost two decades of slow building, it was finally complete. However, the church had been in use for the past seven years, ever since the altar was completed.

St. Nicholas stood much on the outskirts of Hayes, a good ten-minute ride from the outer parts, toward the woods of Raven's Grove. The building was, like most churches, shaped like a cross in its foundations. It was oriented in an east-west axis, to benefit of the sun's positions and to illuminate the inner space. Bricks replaced what once was stone to make out the walls, whitewashed upon their rebuilding; as most modern churches were south of Safeira. It attracted the eye to the building, and it stood almost like a beacon, beckoning the believers to come to mass.

A few decades after the death of the original Friar Nicholas, a bell tower was erected next to the original church. Upon the rebuilding of the church, after the fire, the tower had been painted in white as well, with the dark tiles contrasting immensely. Three bells were held up high and every morning they would echo through the valley, together with the old Romanesque church further in the center of Hayes.

The Friars kept some pastures and had a fine garden next to the church, almost turning it into a monastery. Alas, there were not enough complex of buildings to call it such, nor enough people toiling the lands. Three priests lived there, together with some humble folk who could live and eat in exchange for labor.

The head of St. Nicholas' church was a Friar named Rasmus Blackwood. He was of advanced age and very bony. Each time he walked around, he looked like he would fall apart. Friar Blackwood was a very patient man, and many flocked to hear mass each Sunday morning as he held it. It would be a long and arduous task, but the more religious of Hayes liked him and his teachings to them. They found solace listening to the words of the Bible.

While Friar Blackwood was the calm authority of St. Nicholas, Friar Nathan was his complete opposite. He was loud, jovial, and irked to put people he did not get along with in their place. Now, Friar Nathan was not a mean person, nor did he wish ill will toward others. But as Blackwood had so eloquently put it one day as Little Lucy had made a remark, the younger friar was simply eager in his youth. Friar Nathan was the only one who openly disagreed with Captain Forster and got away with it.

Finally, there was Friar Marcus who was ever passive and kept much to himself. He was rarely seen as he kept to the gardens and the bees, taking care of making the mead that so many of the townsfolk enjoyed in Lucy's tavern.

There Bella found herself a frisky morning in September. Her cheeks had grown rosy from the ten-minute ride over there. She tied April to the wooden bar and entered through the grand wooden doors that had stood since the sixteenth century and survived the fire.

Inside, the original wooden beams in the ceiling by the entrance had blackened over time. But, toward the altar, the beams were much brighter in color, thus marking out which were new, and which were old. She walked through the opening and passed under the balcony that held the pipe organ. Wooden benches in a dark color stacked up toward the modest altar and she walked between them, passing the small transept. To her left, she spotted the wooden confessional box in one corner.

Bella saw Friar Nathan's portly build before her as he was speaking ardently with some choir boys, almost as if reprimanding them.

"T'will the last time, lads, tha' I be catchin' ya wi' this sor' o' mischief!" he stated in his thick accent. It reminded Bella of Lucy, yet Nathan's accent was decidedly heavier and more connected with the heavy brogue they spoke in Coldwick.

"Miss Swan!" he exclaimed with a burly voice as he saw her nearing. He turned to the boys and shooed them off while the young woman neared the altar. "Wha' brings the pleasure, miss, to be havin' ya 'ere?"

Bella smiled at the charming ways the priest seemingly dropped every 't' he could in his speech. "Hi, father, indeed it is good to see you as well!" she exclaimed.

Nathan liked the spirited Swan girl, only because he related so much to her. He was almost fifteen years her senior and a man, but whenever they spoke, both found it odd that they related so much in regard to the way the viewed the world. Bella had always found it amusing, that a friar almost twice her age should come to such an understanding.

"I come with some mischief of my own, father," she admitted. "Although it has not yet been committed." Much like with Little Lucy, Bella felt at ease speaking with both Nathan and Blackwood without fear of being judged. Yet, she was not an avid churchgoer and did not find herself often in St. Nicholas.

Nathan arched an eyebrow, his interest truly caught now. He smirked and led her to sit on the closest bench to them. "Is i' grounds fer confession?" he asked her. Reddish locks were cropped short and his face was cleanly shaven. The lines in his face were harsh after having spent most of his youth toiling in the sun. As soon as he had donned the friar's habit, however, he replaced his tan and muscles with a stout belly and a paler complexion.

Bella smirked, trying hard to fight the tug in her lips. "I shall let you decide, father. However, I ask that you let this remain between both of us… if you do not, in fact, _approve_." The degree of severity present in the inflection in her voice told Nathan that Bella Swan was not exaggerating.

"I be treatin' this as a confession, then," he assured her. Nathan was not a gossip in the least, but the way she behaved more than piqued his interest.

"I come here asking that you help me in communicating with a man that may or may not be within the confinements of the law as of right now," she started with pursed lips. The young woman looked tense and her bonnet cast a severe shadow over her upper face, only allowing Nathan to read the expression in her mouth. "And before you come to any silly conclusion, it is Jacob Black I am speaking about. I know you and father Blackwood to be reasonable—mayhap a bit more than most would think. I was hoping that Jacob and I could use the confessional for communication. He is a dear friend shooed out of Hayes by the ruthlessness of Captain Forster. I cannot go to where he hides in fear that I will either put him in peril or succumb to the dangerous environment which he finds himself in."

At the mere mention of Forster, Nathan had soured, his hot temper boiled as his chubby hands closed into fists. "Oh, bu' if I were bu' twenty years younger, I'd show tha' Forster wha' I really thought bout 'im!" he exclaimed with a fire burning in his eyes. "Wha' he did to poor Mr. Black n' his family! Unfergivable!"

She would have argued; as was expected whenever Friar Nathan spoke ill of Forster. Yet, Bella found no strength for it. Now that she was almost certain of what a horrid man Forster truly was, she had no inclination to ever again speak up in his defense. Nathan grew pleasantly surprised by this as well, almost brought closer by their common distaste for the captain.

"Jacob can come. Methinks father Blackwood will be more than glad to allow it. Bu', Miss Swan," he leaned in conspicuously. "Let's keep i' from father Marcus," he blinked.

Bella soared with joy. Now she would be able to speak more often with Jacob without having to venture into the woods of Raven's Grove!

He could see the cheer displayed on her genteel features and it provoked a warmth to spread in Nathan's chest. "I am forever grateful to you, father!"

"Le' me know when 'e's on 'is way so I might prepare the confessional fer ya."

Bella looked back at the box. There they would soon enter through each door, separated only by the latticed compartment, yet able to converse and exchange information.

She returned to April and it was soon that Bella made her way back to town. In the morrow, Friar Nathan would have the bells rung three times to alert Jacob and have him come to St. Nicholas so that they may speak.

* * *

On the elegant road, housing the sophisticated buildings of the upper class, was such splendid music bleeding onto the street that the commoners gathered around hoping to catch the finery and splendor. They saw glimpses of a world out of their reach as the footmen once and again opened the doors widely to let the distinguished guests from all over town enter.

Gowns and frocks, coats in velvet, taffeta, and silk glistened against the faint beams of a setting sun. Coiffed hairs bounced as the rich and wealthy of Hayes entered the townhouse of the Masens. The trains of their gowns trailed behind them elegantly. The many carriages lined the streets and crowded it, with the footmen and drivers waiting in the pleasant September evening for what would surely be hours until their masters wished to return home. Some had been allowed entry to the kitchens for rest until they would switch places with their colleagues. It was not uncommon to flirt with some of the kitchen maids that sprung around, trying to make sense of their workplace as demands of their attention would surely split them in half.

While the downstairs was a contained chaos, upstairs was the mask that hid it all. It only showed the refined perfection Rosalie McCarty had fought so hard and stressed for during the past few weeks.

A perfect Safeiran ball had been organized in the humble town of Hayes. The refinement of the sitting rooms in their house had never seen its equal. The guests exclaimed passionately that even Adelton Hall could not boast such finery.

The foyer, that took the guest directly before the grand marble staircase, boasted of a completely redone look. To welcome autumn, the themes of red, orange and gold had been woven into the fabrics of the home. The foyer was draped with fabrics in red and ribbons lined with golden thread. A Persian carpet had been placed there, matching the color theme. Footmen stood ready with white wigs and long coats in red with brass buttons, white gloves, and black breeches and buckled shoes. They held silver trays with claret glasses to welcome those who entered. Another ensemble of servants was ready to take the coats of the myriad of people entering.

The parlor saw its usual furniture, though, more chairs had been brought in to sit on, and orange and red fabrics draped the walls, hiding the pastel colors beneath. In every room of note, the chandeliers were suspended with their glistening crystals, lit up to illuminate each room. The ballroom—the grandest of them all—had a whole three chandeliers to boast of. When filled, the exquisite room could house a total of seventy people. Gold and red lined the walls and the floor was already being used by some for quartet dances.

Bella's mouth hung open as she regarded the general splendor, outdoing the gatherings and parties she had seen thus far. Even at the mayor's estate—where he had gone to great lengths for hosting the party of the year—could not compare to the rich and fine decorations.

She was mesmerized. Yet, there was an underlying thought that pushed past the rest: Rosalie McCarty must have spent a fortune.

Her parents had left her in Alice's care and started speaking with Wilson and his entourage. The mayor was quite inspired by the feast and had already made plans for a summer party to outdo the Masens and McCartys. Alice had left her for a moment to check on something in the kitchen and never returned.

Bella didn't know if it was pleasant or a dreaded surprise when Edward Masen showed up. He had his own entourage of ladies who loved hearing him compare his sister's party to those of Safeira. Bella smiled when hearing him approve of most of the arrangements. An approval from Edward Masen meant utter and grand success, she suspected.

Miss Moore and Angela Webber were in an almost comical competition of who could catch the fop's attention. Bella sipped her claret as she beheld the sight of Mr. Masen growing increasingly feeble and uncomfortable with the banter between both women. The others in their entourage fanned themselves in a dreaded attempt at not bursting out into silly chuckles.

However, when she caught Mr. Masen's eye across the room, he made up a silly excuse and darted over to her in a most uncharacteristic way. Ever the fashionista, he dressed to impress with a starched cravat, breeches, stockings and buckled shoes shined to perfection. He had the much-dreaded locks plastered to his forehead as always, still boasting it to be the rage in Safeira and on the continent.

"Mr. Masen, your ladies will miss you," she laughed as she looked at a fuming Angela Webber and Miss Moore. However, Jessica Stanley did not seem as affected. "And I will surely catch their anger." She leaned toward him conspicuously "They will think I have stolen you," she smiled. Their way of speaking was decidedly of a friendlier tone than it had been before. Edward Masen and Bella Swan's acquaintance had grown out of their promenades, not from sitting in stuffy parlors and sipping tea. Despite his rather unfortunate appearance or vain conversations, she could sometimes find his society rather agreeable when they were alone. He was still the intolerable fop, but softer around the edges and more genuine. Bella wondered why he would not show that side to the rest of the world. She suspected that he would grow to find many around him taking a kinder stand in regard to him.

"While I understand their fascination with me and am flattered by such approaches, I must confess that too much female attention has me at my wit's end, my dear Miss Swan," he drawled.

"Maybe you should seek out your brothers-in-law, or are you forgetting that I am a female as well?" she pondered.

"Come, come, Miss Swan, I would hardly place you in the same category as them," he answered without looking.

Bella smirked. "I shall take that as a compliment, Mr. Masen."

He turned around as if suddenly alerted to what his words might have inclined, and she saw him grow flustered. Indeed, at times, Edward Masen truly had such little tact.

"Indeed, I hope you do."

They stood together and Bella wondered why he had grown so silent right then. The aura coming from him was changed too and it made her blush; as if she was suddenly alerted to the fact that Edward Masen was not simply a fop and intriguing dandy. He was a man as well.

No, she shook her head. No indeed. The powdered and rogued visage of the peacock stared down at her with that indifferent expression once more. There was only one side to Edward Masen, nothing else.

"I wonder, Miss Swan, if I may ask a dance out of—" A faint tug on her shoulder interrupted their small exchange and caused the young woman to turn and see who demanded her attention.

Her face lit up at the sight of none other than the dashing Major Collins.

"May I ask for the next dance?" he asked as he bowed with an extended hand. Bella's eyes darted from him to Edward. The latter bowed and took a step back, allowing them to walk over to the dancefloor. Bella graciously accepted the hand. She turned to Edward while mouthing: "maybe the next one?" as she was led onto the floor by the major.

The elegance of the eve truly caught up to her and Bella Swan did not witness the frown that had crept its way onto Edward Masen's features. Her eyes were held steadfast by the major, who so eloquently led her in the quaint dance. The lively music served to inspire them and on the floor, many eyes were drawn to the couple with faint nods. Indeed, Isabella Swan and Major Collins did truly make a handsome couple if they ever saw one. It was a perfect match, many nodded and agreed.

"If you are to pursue her, you must be ready to elbow your way through," a kind voice said through the chatter and music to Mr. Masen's left. He turned and was greeted by Jasper Hale.

"Why on earth would I wish for such a dastardly thing, Mr. Hale?" he scoffed, dotting his nose with the trimmed handkerchief. "We are but mere acquaintances, Miss Swan and I, mark my word!" he uttered in his usual drawl.

"She is a handsome young woman, is she not?" Jasper continued, ignoring his brother-in-law's remark. "Alice is quite taken with her. As are your parents."

Perhaps, in that instance—watching her float on the dancefloor, in the arms of someone else with the genuine smile plastered over her delicate features and eyes glittering from the exercise—his mask did drop, if only a little.

"I am who I am, Jasper," Edward said, the drawl lessening and a haunting sadness etching its way into his voice. Mayhap the young gentleman had had too much to drink. He downed the rest of his claret and pressed the glass into the other man's hands. "She has no interest in me," he said arching an eyebrow, leaving the fair-haired young man be.

Jasper stared as Edward left, and then back at young Miss Swan with a disheartened sigh. He knew there was more to his foppish brother than met the eye. Edward Masen may be vain, but Jasper had always been a good judge of character and he discerned someone hidden behind the frills and powdered visages. It had intrigued the young Mr. Hale, for everyone seemed so distracted and irritated by the dandy that they did not take the time to perceive the young man Edward Masen truly was. What Jasper had noted most of all, was the growing interest stemming in Edward regarding Isabella Swan, yet it was an interest he openly suppressed and explained away. Their promenades were only as acquaintances, their conversations served as grounds for the fop to off-hand insult her. Yet, Bella was ever gracious, and she handled him better than most.

Bella shivered at the touch of Collins' hand on her own, how he held her in their quartet, how they danced with the music. His smile bore down on her and even made her blush slightly.

Once the dance was finished, Collins pulled her aside to a more secluded area so they might speak. She fiddled slightly with her skirts at his nearness and her eyes cast to the floor and up again at his face.

"Miss Swan," he began as he beheld her shyness. "You cannot have ignored my…interest in spending time with you ever since arriving at Hayes."

"You have been very attentive, Major Collins," she mumbled as if almost embarrassed.

He was taken in by her modesty and perfect manners. "I know you have been spending some time with Mr. Masen, yet I have been assured that he is not courting you—not openly."

"Indeed, he is not," she nodded.

Collins looked like he was to take a leap of faith in her direction. She sensed the undertone of nervousness in him, in his way of bearing himself. "I…hope you not think it impertinent of me if I were to ask your permission to court you, Miss Swan," he breathed.

Bella's heart went aflutter. An amiable man stood before her willing to court her, after all the fops and sorry wretches her father had sent her way. This time, Bella could choose who she wanted. She didn't think of the logistics—if Collins was a good match socially, his station, his standing in society, his income and so forth. Bella listened with her heart instead. How had he treated her? Was his interest in her genuine or did it seek her dowry? Such things rushed through her mind until he interrupted her.

"I wish to get to know you better, Miss Swan, and for you to get to know me better as well," he stated almost nervously.

Her lips parted and closed as she looked into the depth of his eyes. Major Collins had the deepest blue eyes she had ever beheld in her life. His air was charming, he was a good match in all senses for her. Her parents would accept it most openheartedly if she were to agree.

"I am much obliged, Major Collins, and flattered," she added with a blush.

His features broke out into an ecstatic smile as he took her hand and kissed it. "You do not know how this news gladdens me!" he told her.

Bella's blush deepened and they were about to continue their conversation when a scream outside had the music cease and the chatter stop abruptly. He saw a cold and stern fear etch its way onto the paling face of the young woman.

"Stay here, miss," he ordered her before rushing out to see what all the commotion was about.

But Collins did not know Bella enough to realize she would not obey that command. She, like so many others, rushed out after Collins, standing on the frigid steps leading down to the street. At the end of the street, a crowd had been forming and it grew as the guests of the Masen townhouse rushed forth.

"Let me through, I am the commandant of the Royal Guard," Bella could hear Collins exclaim in a commanding voice as he pushed through the throng. She shivered in the frisky September night and felt the blood drain from her face as she discerned a pale hand on the side of the road. Many of the guests recoiled back in fright at such a sight and did not venture further. Alas, Bella did.

She pushed through and shut out the mumbles and chatter. "Let me through!" she heard Collins utter once more. Once he got through to whoever lay on the ground, she could practically hear him catch his breath in shock and horror.

"Have someone fetch a blanket to cover her," he commanded one of the nearby townspeople. "Go on, man! Tell one of the footmen!" Collins shouted out in restrained anger.

Bella was let through and came to stand within the circle that had formed. She gasped at the sight of the body. A young woman lay on the cold cobblestone, part of the ground beneath her skull was darker and the metallic twang of blood hung in the air. Bella tasted it on her tongue when she gasped, and the unexpected presence of blood had her grow faint and lose her composure. A horrid expression had frozen on the corpse's face. It looked like the young woman had flung herself from the tall rooftop of a nearby building.

"Someone remove Miss Swan from here!" Collins urged once he realized with horror that Bella had seen the body as well.

"It's Miss Haste!" Bella cried out in fright as her eyes locked with Collins'. "It's Mr. Ridge's maid!"

* * *

The old woman shifted uncomfortably in the seat as she scratched her hair through the dirty cap. Her sunken-in eyes regarded the man across the desk skeptically, judging every refined and polished point about him. She took in the scent of polished boots, metal, gunpowder, and wood from the room. The gray orbs trailed further to watch the befuddling fat sergeant as he struggled to keep quill and papers orderly on the desk in the corner.

"State your name and occupation," the man before her ordered in an authoritative voice. She could tell—he was used to getting his way.

"Matilda Greene, scullery maid," she spat through her crooked teeth. In the corner, she heard the running of the quill on paper rasp irritatingly in her ear, like a fly buzzing too close.

"Time and place of incident," Major Collins asked.

"Comin' from Rover's street to cross by Mulkin's—the same street I've been walkin' down for the past twenty-five years of me life," said the maid in a matter-of-fact sort of way. "I works for the Sansieres, see," she stated with a finger tapping the clean surface of the desk. Collins grew enthralled by the dirty finger and sighed inwardly.

"State your witness of the incident—as it happened; _exactly_ as it happened. I do not wish for any embellishments," he added. He had been awake the entire night cleaning up the mess after the maid's death, trying to make sense of what had truly happened. He had brought in every witness on that street and ceremoniously questioned them one by one for his reports and records.

"I was walkin' down the street, like every night—as I told ya. Suddenly, I hears a whimper on one of them taller houses—on the roof," she started while leaning forward. The chair creaked and Thompson's quill flew over the page. Collins had no other he would trust with keeping a record. He needed to read the people's expressions as they retold their testimony. While Thompson might be inept in many things, he now realized the importance of the situation and was up to the task. Collins wanted Forster to question why he wasn't the one sitting in the corner desk, transcribing. Collins wanted Forster to sweat rivers, to corner him further.

"Continue, be specific—for the record," Collins stated. He witnessed her eyes narrow and her hands clenched as she was taken back.

"I and some others saw her, major. She be standin' on the edge but afraid, steppin' back as if hesitatin'. Twas bizarre." Suddenly a cold look seeped across her face and she grew restless with her hands. The wrinkles around her eyes deepened and she struggled to hold her gaze steadfast on Collins. She was afraid, he could tell.

"I…I don't think tha' girl wished to jump," she shivered. "But she did, with tha' horrible scream."

Collins settled back, recognizing the words. He had heard it countless times during the night, how the young maid had hesitated as she peered over the edge, how she seemed to turn back. "Twas very dark up there," the scullery maid shook her head. "Somethin' bout it didn't make any sense," she finally answered.

"What made no sense?" Thompson urged as he leaned forward, completely taken in by her words. A stern look from the major promptly served to silence the eager sergeant.

"I cannot say fer sure, sirs, but I don't believe tha' girl jumped. Twas too dark, aye, too dark. Dark enough fer someone to hide, dark enough fer us not to see her _pushed_ off the edge."

"Really now?" She held the curiosity of both men in the office and the scullery maid delighted in such attention.

"Tis the truth, major. I cannot explain it, bu' I _know_."

"Then you are stating it is not a suicide, but murder?" Thompson asked from behind his desk. He was dripping ink all over his notes and Collins could not help but roll his eyes.

"I ain't statin' nothing, I'm merely sharin' what I be thinkin'."

The major leaned back and nodded. "Thank you, that will be all Miss Greene," Collins nodded as she was shown out the room by Sgt. Thompson. Once he returned, a chuckle escaped him.

"She's the first who's speculated on murder, major. Do you also believe it?"

"Now, sergeant," Collins uttered in a severe expression. "This woman could just as well speculate for gossip's sake. She could not support her claims, it does not prove Miss Haste was pushed."

"Yes major, but—"

"Was she the last civilian to be questioned?" the major interrupted, feeling the growing headache fester.

Thompson's shoulders slumped. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Good, then I wish for you to rewrite your notes in a neater manner. I shall have to go through the statements in the morrow. Here are more renditions I've been working on, you may take them as well," Collins instructed. Thompson took the papers and looked at them. A childish and comical expression of surprise slowly worked its way onto his chubby face until replaced with a frown.

"But, Major Collins—"

"Have these finished by end of the day, if you please, sergeant. And you can continue by sending in Corporal Richards."

"You will be questioning the soldiers as well?" Thompson asked.

"Well, if this girl was indeed pushed, I must keep the soldiers of the Royal Guard up to date."

The sergeant sighed once more and took his notes and the documents handed to him by Collins as he walked out. Collins could hear Thompson's baritone voice extend outside as he called for the corporal. It was mid-morning, yet the major was certain he would be a slave to his desk long after the sun had set.

* * *

It was expected that Hayes would speak of nothing else but Miss Haste's untimely and horrid death. It was expected that gossip and hushed voices would all strive to find some sense in it all, that people would rationalize why she had cast herself off a rooftop. Since the people did not know the reason for her death, her death or—suicide—was explained away. The young woman had killed herself over the absence of Lucas Ridge, confirming gossip that she had cared for him as more than a simple maid.

Bella Swan felt crushed at what she had seen. It was a scene she had not understood. Facing death in such a violent way had not only shaken her but also many of the Masen guests who had witnessed the corpse. Charles Swan had been forced to drag his shaking daughter away from that horrid view. He still remembered the still form of the young woman, her pale and crushed figure splattered on the side of the road, the horror still present in her eyes. Some speculated the suicide had not been voluntary, some speculated it was murder.

Because of such speculations, Charles' protectiveness over his daughter had grown tenfold. Bella Swan was no longer allowed to ride April alone. Robert was to follow her wherever she went, and because of the paranoid nature of her father, she was robbed of the freedom she so longed for.

Charles had spoken once and again with Mrs. Hale that it would be prominent in parting earlier than expected for Zafra. The unrest in Hayes would not settle down soon, and he did not wish for Bella to be in town until it was safer. When autumn reached its zenith, she would part for the southern town and remain there until the first snows kissed Angloa.

Bella sat in the open balcony, regarding the garden with the pond in the distance and the weeping willow shifting slowly in color as autumn progressed. There, under that very tree, she had met Edward Cullen a third time and he had even touched her. Bella felt her brow work itself into a frown, reminded of their last encounter, of the playful and amusing tone in his voice. He had taken her note and she wondered what he might have deciphered from it. Bella sat, pensive. Had he also heard the unfortunate fate of Miss Haste? The young woman stifled a shiver.

Footsteps told of another presence in the room. Yet, Bella did not turn around to acknowledge whoever they were.

The same person proceeded in stripping the linen off her bed, no doubt to prepare it for a fresh set of sheets. It had to be Sara. "Do you truly think she did it?" her timid voice asked, cutting through the still silence of her chamber.

Bella rested her head against the windowpane and sulked. "I cannot know…" she trailed off. Sara still rustled with the bedsheets. In the dull light of mid-morning, droplets fell heavy from the steel sky. The autumn rains had started, and it was soon that they would replace the sunny days of summer.

There was a determined air to the maid behind her; in the way that she walked about the bed, in the way she rummaged.

"It will be impertinent of me to say this, but some believe she was pushed," Sara commenced in her soft tones. "And while we have enough fright to behold, I was never under the impression that Miss Haste was melancholy or longed to end her life."

Bella soured. "Let us not speak of this, Sara. This whole affair presents a rather sad and unfortunate event. I knew Miss Haste for years, her absence is more than unfortunate for me," she murmured curtly. Sara noted the hint of betrayal in her voice.

She stopped rustling with the sheets. "Everyone in Hayes is quick to jump to conclusions. Maybe there is more to this than we think? Maybe she was in love with Mr. Ridge, or simply grown alone after his death? Or maybe someone was after her. We cannot know, of course."

More drops fell from the sky and the branches of the weeping willow swayed lazily as the pond was obscured. She turned around to face Sara who stood by the made bed with her hands folded before her.

"I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, Miss Swan. The dead cannot speak anymore, so is it not up to us to decide what she was or what she did?" Sara wondered. "Maybe you have someone who might help you in such an endeavor?" the maid smiled.

Sara suspected Bella might know of a way to contact Cullen. And, in fact, she did! St. Nicholas, Jacob! Maybe Jacob had the answers she sought? Or maybe he could make her see sense in all this?

"I do not know who he is or how to reach him, Sara."

"Of course not, miss," the maid smiled as she gathered the dirty linen and headed for the door. "Forgive me, I was simply thinking out loud. I shall get going now," she smirked and closed the door behind her.

Bella chuckled. Sara knew exactly what she was doing—the sly woman. And, in a single instant, the young Miss Swan had gone from depressed and afraid with a mission in mind. She would venture to St. Nicholas and have Friar Nathan ring the bells and wait in the confessional until Jacob came. How she was to go about her plan, she did not know. But what Bella did know was that she left for Zafra soon, and she wished to leave at ease.

She changed into her maroon riding habit and snuck to the stables. It was filled with some workers and she was certain Robert was there somewhere. If she could simply saddle April and dart out, she might make it out of Hayes in time, before they noticed anything.

Bella snuck about and had just placed and fixed the straps of the saddle when one of the younger boys asked what she was doing. Without as much as looking back, Bella Swan hurled herself over the saddle and dug her heels into her mare. April, who had since May been placed on a strict diet and exercise, darted out of the Swan stables with agility and ease. They rushed through the backstreets of Hayes until reaching the gates leading to Raven's Grove. Bella soared together with her white horse as she carried them effortlessly over the meadow, toward the white church of St. Nicholas.

Bella was free in an instant. Bella was flying. Nothing could compare to the feeling that settled in her stomach of such enjoyment, of such a sentiment of being one with her horse and nature. She loved every moment of it.

St. Nicholas approached and not fifteen minutes passed before its bells tolled three times, the music filling the valley.

Young Miss Swan sat in the confessional impatiently, waiting for Jacob to make his appearance. The inside of the confessional was dark and foreboding, with only some light floating through the door and some panels to her immediate left. She wrung her hands as the minutes passed. Maybe Jacob hadn't heard the bells toll? Maybe he'd become detained? What if Friar Nathan or Blackwood had intercepted him? So many thoughts of what could go wrong rushed through her mind that the young woman never noticed the echo of steps sound in the dainty interior of St. Nicholas. The outside light burrowed through, yet wax candles were required to further light up the space, giving it a mysterious air.

Someone rushed to open the confessional and closed it behind them. Bella tensed as she looked through the latticed opening, trying to discern any features of the stranger, but she only found a deep hood at best. She could see no features.

"Bella?" the voice whispered. It was Jacob.

She sprung forward in anticipation as her nervousness subsided. "Jacob!" she whispered back. "You came!"

She heard the faint smile in his voice. "Of course I did, you called. I have overheard the gossip and whispers of what happened in Hayes—" he paused, and she felt his eyes work their way onto hers through the latticed opening. "Do you believe Miss Haste did it? I certainly cannot."

"I…I cannot say, for there were witnesses who say they saw her jump—"

"I think someone is trying to dirty her name, Bella. You if anyone should know that Miss Haste would never do such a thing."

"I suppose. But if she did not jump, she was pushed to it, and who would wish to kill her?"

"The same person who killed Mr. Ridge."

She moistened her lips and sat back with a sigh. Bella had the feeling Jacob could see her better than she could him. She blushed under what she considered was a stern gaze.

"He is going to find the real killer, Bella. And I aim to help him."

"My parents are sending me early to Zafra for the season, Jacob. They want me far away from this mess. Hayes is becoming dangerous and they are not the only ones to think it."

"When do you leave?"

"Within the fortnight."

They sat in stunned silence for a while, going over the fact that two people had succumbed to a mysterious killer. "Maybe it is for the best," Jacob murmured softly. They were overcome by the pressing darkness that extended within the church. Bella shivered at such ominous words. She had to be brave and trust in Jacob.

"Tell him that Mr. Ridge's note has little of substantial evidence except for those who knew him. But he was known to hide underlying messages in his texts, he used to do it with me all the time when I was younger. If he could get some of the ledgers relating your and your father's trial, I might be able to find something."

"But most of that cannot be found. He has been to the garrison, to Forster's office, even to Collins'. He has searched Ridge's apartments and come up empty-handed. He is going to look through Miss Haste's rooms tonight, but he does not expect to find anything. Is there more to it that you have deciphered this far?" Jacob asked.

"The only thing standing out was that Lucas wrote 'in haste', which would not have demanded such a steady hand. Anyone who knew him knew he scribbled his words worse than a toddler unless he knew anyone was to read them. Tell that…to Cullen."

"I will," Jacob nodded. "Everything you have just given me is truly valuable information, Bella. I know he will appreciate that."

She pressed against the opening. "He must clear hers and Ridge's name, Jacob—suicide cannot hang over these people," she demanded. "Tell him I said as much as well."

"Of course." Silence found its way into the confessional box. "I suppose I will not be seeing you until winter, then."

"No, I suppose you will not," she answered, subdued by what she was leaving behind. Bella too wanted to clean up the mess.

"But I shall know that with your coming also comes spring, Bella." The warmth in his voice extended. "And when you return, we shall have more answers!"

She couldn't help but smile as he tried to reassure her.

"Oh, and I will wish you a happy birthday in advance as well!" he added.

"Thank you," she had completely forgotten that she was to turn twenty in a few days. Bella stood up, leaving the box. She did not turn around to see Jacob leave. He heard her footsteps echo and waited until they died down, certain she had left the church before he himself left.

* * *

**A/N: Had some extra time to publish another chapter! Thanks for the reviews, feedback, etc. on the previous chapters! I hope you enjoy this one as well!**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	18. Chapter 18

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 18_

_I write in haste for I cannot bear it any longer. I threw it all away, I failed myself. What I believed in does not exist in this kingdom and it crushes me. I cannot live in such a world. I hope judgment will not be too harsh on me. I hope those who knew me will understand._

_L.R_

Most of it didn't make much sense to him. To his eyes, and to a large part of Hayes, it was a simple, yet embellished suicide note. It was as if, in his last moments alive, Lucas Ridge had decided to become a poet. What Bella Swan had thus far discerned made sense, even to him. No matter how many times he went over it, he needed to speak with someone who had known Mr. Ridge better, and who had spoken more with Miss Haste.

Finding a moment where she was not constantly guarded or surrounded by people proved to be hard. Bella Swan rarely ventured to Raven's Grove anymore and he suspected he might not find a chance to see her before she left for Zafra.

However, perhaps destiny had decided they should have one final encounter before she left. October had come alarmingly quick and Hayes grew tenser than ever before. Bella had kept her word to her father and not ventured anywhere alone again without Robert. She visited Lucy at her tavern and tried to speak with Thompson whenever she could. Collins had openly started courting her and it had overjoyed Charles, who regarded the man as an eloquent match. But knowing she was to leave Hayes for the first time—and not see her beloved town for a few months—made Bella take April on a final solitary trip. One Sunday morning, when most had gone to St. Nicholas for mass, she had stayed behind, complaining of a headache to her parents. It was broad daylight but still, Raven's Grove called for her.

The powerful hooves brought her into the enigmatic forest, now aglow with fiery colors of ruby and gold. The rooftop of the woods matched the floor in such splendid colors that Bella thought someone must have painted them there. She had April slow down, mindful of any roots that might lurk. It had not rained for the past few days and she saw it as an opportune time to venture one last time into the forest. The Embrace was too far in, but Bella could still pass by the stream that led to the lake where she would bathe in during the summers.

Due to the previous week's rains, the stream was still wider than before, the trickle it produced during summer was now a roar in her ears as she dismounted her horse and led her by the reins. She went to a small cluster of boulders and watched the picturesque sights her haven offered.

There he found her, sitting against a big rock with dark moss cascading over the top, her mare tied off nearby a tree and Bella Swan's eyes closed as her face took in the sunlight. She had crossed her legs as they peeked through her royal blue riding habit.

Every time he saw her, except for at Wilson's estate, Bella Swan had been laying down in rest. This time was no different. He made his presence known by rattling the leaves with his boots and saw her dart up.

Bella turned around, to the source of such minor commotion. She could not have been followed to Raven's Grove by anyone in Hayes. Most were at mass. Then another thought passed her mind, it had to be Jacob. She knew him to roam the interior of the woods in search for firewood. Maybe he'd sought her out, a premonition that she would be there.

Thus, with little ceremony, Bella Swan turned around with a smile on her face, expecting Jacob to be there, yet her smile stripped completely as she saw Cullen, under the crown of a tree. The thick crown did some in shielding his form, however, the shadow cast over him was not as protective as it would be during the night. For the first time, Bella caught a good glimpse of him in daylight.

"I did not think you showed yourself when the sun is out," she proceeded to say defiantly. His black figure outlined sharply against the reds, browns, and yellows of the forest, as did his horse. "Your guise does not afford you any protection in this environment," Bella remarked. She had always known he was tall. His shoulders were as broad as she expected and had discerned from when speaking to him in the shadows.

He did not leave the confinements of the tree. He knew Bella Swan was perceptive, and he would not give her more fodder to try to reveal who hid beneath the mask. Having stepped out before her as Cullen in broad daylight was a big enough risk already.

"Circumstance required such a sacrifice, my lady," his booming and rich voice floated to her ear and brushed deliciously against it. She stifled a shiver.

She arched an eyebrow and he remarked that she did not guard herself against him as she had in the past. There was something decidedly different about this encounter. He attributed it to the presence of the sun.

Bella Swan walked up to him in silent steps, ever regarding the proud stature of such a man. How he and the hermit were one and the same she could not understand. But she now heard their voices as one, although she suspected he spoke in lower and richer tones as Cullen. The more she neared him, the more she discerned in greater detail.

He wore a black shirt with wide arms that ventured into two kidskin gloves in the same color. She commended him in his choice of gloves, no doubt he could still feel the weight and pressure of the blade when fencing with them, yet they hid the lightness of his skin during the night. His black shirt came up to a simple cut collar. No cravat tied it together and the very top gaped open slightly, allowing her a faint view of the skin at the top of his throat.

His trousers followed the same color scheme and ran up past his hips, fitted against his legs and outlining them for her to better see. Even the buttons which tied the front together were charcoal black. A sash about his waist tied the top part of the trousers together, a fashion she had never seen before in Angloa but knew was not uncommon in the southern countries of Europe. He wore some sort of outdated boots that hugged his shins and ended just below his knees. They were not polished as she expected a gentleman would've liked to have them. Polished boots might, in the worst case, catch the light of some candle at night and shine. Thus, they were kept as dull as possible, she noted.

She came to willingly stand a few meters from him as he relaxed near the tree trunk. His eyes regarded every miniscule move she made walking up to him, how she lifted part of her riding habit as not to stumble. Bella felt their fire burn into her, and she focused instead on her footing, trying not to blush under such stern regard.

When she stopped in front of him, he knew—there was no longer fear in her eyes, only defiance and some faint amount of cockiness he had never before seen in her. Bella Swan held some information over him, and it made him warry.

However, he did not show it.

"You have come and sought me out, then," she stated before him while squaring her shoulders. "About the note… that you _stole._"

He ignored her last remark with a faint tug of his lip. "There is more to this note…" he trailed off. She knew he would not admit to it—to his failure in trying to find more in Lucas' last words. Of course, Bella had not been successful in such an endeavor either.

A gloved hand trailed to the sash and retrieved the note, stretching out to hand it to her. Bella stared at it for a while as the winds dragged at the crowns, making the rustling leaves sing, a gentle backdrop to the pooling water and faint birdsong. She almost feared the weight of the words written in the fold of that paper. Her lips parted slowly as the chocolate orbs froze on his hand.

For a few moments, there existed nothing but the two of them, eerily finding themselves in such a strange situation. Raven's Grove enveloped both in her protective bosom, the picture of them reminiscent of happenings that had taken place in that same forest a long time ago.

He walked closer to her, centimeters now separating them, and took her right hand, pressing the note into it. "In haste, Miss Swan," he told her. The voice singing softly in her ears, soft like velvet and smooth like honey as it vibrated through her, causing an involuntary shiver. "What was the name of the maid who killed herself?"

In haste. Miss _Haste_. How foolish that she had not thought of it already. Bella had not known such a chill before, now replacing the warm sensation that had been previously there. He saw her pale slowly. "Maria," she mouthed to herself as a tremble overcame her. "He meant Maria?" For the first time, she brought herself to face him and was stunned to find such intense eyes bearing down on her. The mask shadowed most of them, but she caught the twinkle, felt their strength. Bella was mesmerized, like a moth drawn to a flame by their alluring sheer.

"Even if he didn't, someone thought he was referring to her. Do you believe her capable of throwing herself off a roof?" he asked. From where she stood, the low rumble of his voice pushed past the fear, cradled and comforted her as a warmth to spread across her entire body. Bella was caught entirely by the soft movement of his full lips, by their formation of every syllable, every vowel, and consonant. She took a sharp breath and violently shook her head, trying to get a grip over her fleeting senses. Was she going mad? What behavior was this?

"Never that," she whispered in response, afraid that even the trees had ears. Even if this man could be so vexing to her, Bella ignored it for a moment to be drawn further in by him.

"Did she come to you, did she ever seek you out?" He had moved his lips to speak again and the words caused a frown.

She took a step back, now suddenly guarded again. "Why would Miss Haste seek me out?"

"You were a close acquaintance with Mr. Ridge."

"But Mr. Ridge left nothing of note behind for me—"

"But maybe he knows you would have understood these words, the meaning of this small text better than anyone else?"

"You are grasping at straws, Cullen. Lucas could never have known that I would have stumbled upon this note."

"But he knew he was writing a suicide note that might be made known to the rest of Hayes and thus its information read out loud or at least posted on the boards in town by the Royal Guard."

"Had I not seen for myself the words 'in haste' I would never have figured it out," she admitted.

"Yet, you saw them, and Miss Haste is dead—because there is no doubt that she held some sort of information that Ridge must have left for her. He was looking into more than Mr. Black and his son's trial. I believe he was trying to take down Captain Forster."

He was, for the first time, not amusing himself with teasing her, he was being utterly serious in their conversation—and honest. But Bella did still not know if she could trust him.

"Are you certain Miss Haste did not seek you out?" he asked again.

She had. The words _two birds and a saint_ still stood out to her, but she could not know what they meant. "We spoke on a few occasions, but it held nothing of consequence—"

He shook his head, almost growing frustrated. "Miss Swan, if she told you something, it might put you in danger…it might make whoever killed Miss Haste come after you."

Her lips pressed together. "I leave for Zafra in the morrow, sir. I have nothing to give you."

"Well then, you would give up on poor Mr. Ridge and Miss Haste?" He seemed almost disappointed in his countenance.

She shook her head violently. "Never," she breathed. "He had such faith in saving Mr. Black and Jacob, and he never deserved such an end. If Forster is involved in this, I wish to see him pay for it. What you do to him; taunt him, clean Raven's Grove of bandits is admirable but—"

"It only alleviates the symptoms, it does not remove the root of the sickness. I know, Miss Swan," he nodded. Some humanity showed through the tough exterior and Bella was allowed a view of the troubled man beneath the mask. He truly seemed worried by such a fact. "But more will perish if Forster is allowed to continue."

"I do not understand you, Mr. Cullen. First, you come to steal this note and now you are giving it back to me in want of help?" She crossed her arms before him in a questioning manner. The sunlight spilled through the leaves and reflected further upon his person and herself. He was indeed a most singular person that only continued to draw her in.

His chuckle rumbled in unison with the wind as the leaves rustled once more. For the first time, she saw his full smile, how his full lips drew back to reveal the whites of his teeth to her in a genuine and charming smirk. "You do not trust me," he said simply.

"No, indeed I do not. Because, after all, you are a bandit of these woods, no matter how noble your intentions might be. And your treatment of me has not been exactly…courteous," she snickered. "And your insults against my horse have been of very poor taste." She tilted her head.

It seemed she had caught him by surprise for Cullen's lips pressed together.

"Oh, yes, I _know_. You cannot hide that insufferable laugh. I know you are the same fellow I met back in May by this very stream and I know you are the same man who called April…rotund."

He seemed to be evaluating her for a moment, thinking over what he was expected to say. Maybe, he realized, keeping up pretenses with her was of no use much longer. "Well, Miss Swan, I spoke the truth, didn't I?" he asked. He still spoke in the same deep voice, still held the same squared and relaxed pose. He pointed at April. "Your mare has decidedly gotten into better shape," he smirked. He couldn't help it, teasing her and watching her grow flustered brought on such satisfaction. He found it almost endearing.

"You have scared me half to death on several occasions, entered my chamber without my consent, almost dropped me into my own pond and dared to call my horse fat. And you expect me to trust in you after all of this?"

He shrugged. "O ye, of little faith," the masked man smirked. She felt his gaze penetrative, almost searching, and how his stance shifted.

She sighed. Working together with this man might really help Miss Haste and Mr. Ridge. But she was certain he would keep her in the dark and not inform her whatever findings he might have. Aye, he had refrained from doing so up until this point. So why should she give away what Maria had told her? "If I tell you that I might have stumbled upon Maria a few days prior to her…death…and that she might have told me something, you must promise me one thing," she told him. "I wish to form part of this as well. I will not be pushed aside, Cullen."

He cocked his head to the side and walked up to her. "Form part of what?" he asked with a relaxed drawl, coming to stand before her. His form towered over her and Bella had to stretch her neck to look up at him. Both stood under the dancing leaves, their swaying motion causing some flickers of sunlight to seep through, to dance across their forms.

She could still not see much of his eyes for the shadows cast by the mask and tree. But she saw the lower part of his chin and jaw. His chin had a slight dip in it, and she saw his mouth tense in unison with the jaw. "I want to find out who killed them as well."

"It is dangerous, there is a reason I hide my face."

"I know it is dangerous. I am prepared for that. I will not put myself into any unnecessary situation," she promised.

She saw him in the midst of making a decision; as if he was wondering if he should give away who he truly was. Bella waited patiently and grew increasingly proud that she had not once backed down this time. "I promise I shall not share this information with anyone else."

He smirked slightly and shifted his head to stare at April. "I think you are the most stubborn woman I have ever encountered," he mused. The friendly smile on her face vanished as he once more teased her. He beheld the comical sight of watching her features settle into an irritated frown.

"Careful, sir. There will be no more teasing of me or my horse, lest you wish to pay for it!"

Another step brought him closer and Bella was reminded of the night under the weeping willow. Now that she had him close enough to feel his breath hit the top of her head, she was reminded of what he truly was. This was a man she was supposed to feel afraid of. Such proximity on his behalf had a faint blush creep up her throat slowly, tediously. It was as if he was testing her boundaries; as if he amused himself by provoking such strange emotions within her.

"And how pray, Miss Swan, would you make me pay?" his velvety voice murmured near her ear and sent a jolt shocking her limbs. She looked up at him and found that the playfulness was gone. He was entirely focused on her and Bella grew further flushed once she realized his eyes had drawn to her lips.

She wanted to back away, but her feet stood as if rooted to the ground like the tree next to them. "You would not want to find out," she dared breathe, afraid of what else she might say. Bella had never found herself in a similar situation or had a man hold such a spell over her. Her breaths deepened in anticipation of what was to come. The danger of being out in the woods with a man whose face she had never seen strangely thrilled her.

Another step brought him so close his body was practically brushing up against hers. A gloved hand came up to her cheek and brushed part of her lower lip. His kidskin glove was of such thin material that she could feel the warmth of his hand through it. "Maybe I would," he whispered huskily, and Bella realized in terror that he was leaning down toward her.

Her eyes widened and she acted without thinking. Her right hand came up with a whoosh, aimed for his cheek. Bella had never planned to slap him, and she never got the chance to. With the quickest reflexes she had ever seen, he gripped the wrist of her hand with his gloved one and regarded her in a tense moment.

"D-do not get the wrong idea, sir!" she stammered with a growing blush as she wrung herself from his grip and placed several meters between them. "I will have you know that Major Collins is courting me and while I will not inform him of our little _encounters_, I will not accept you treating me thusly."

He sighed and gave a small nod. "Very well. I will respect your boundaries and allow you to be a part of this. But you will only hand me information, Miss Swan. Nothing else."

Bella nodded, still flustered as she hung onto the note like a lifeline and saw him still looking at her. "Good," she forced.

She thought she had made her point rather clearly and straightened the jacket of her riding habit with some pronounced force. Bella hoped her face wasn't too red. She hoped he wouldn't hear the frantic beatings of her heart as her pulse drummed loudly in her ears. She begged that he wouldn't somehow know of the strange butterflies rapidly spreading in her lower abdomen at his nearness. His closeness to her was like alcohol and it made her almost drunk and unable to think rationally.

"I wouldn't want Major Collins after me, now would I?" he blinked playfully at her. She sighed, this man was impossible.

"_Two birds and a saint,_ was what Miss Haste told me last we met," she finally settled. Bella feared that if she provoked him and insisted on speaking with him longer, he would near her again.

The words seemed to stop their prolonged conversation for he turned to his horse and seated it in one graceful swing. He sat comfortably in the saddle like he was one with his animal. "On your return, contact Jacob Black via St. Nicholas if you manage to figure out those words."

"Then you do not know their meaning either?" she asked. She looked as he guided the black beast to go further into the forest, he did not answer her question. "What will you do in the meantime?" she wondered.

He turned around in the saddle. "Keep Forster occupied, of course!" he exclaimed in a burst of decadent laughter and proceeded to dig his heels into the animal's side. The stallion galloped away and before Bella knew it, she was once more alone.

* * *

Ever since having interrogated all the soldiers of his garrison, Collins knew that more people than Forster were involved in the corruption. He had signaled out a certain Corporal Richards now as well. But weeks had passed, and the major had yet to act, almost afraid of what would happen if he did.

The evening finally came when Collins asked Forster to come to his office, deciding that it all had to come to an end. Things were escalating and he could no longer wait for Cullen to come forth with some supposedly incriminating evidence against Forster. He ignored the warning the outlaw had given him, deciding that he had to act as the major and highest-ranking officer in Hayes.

Bella had left for Zafra, and if the situation worsened, he knew she would at least not be left in the crossfire. Most had left Hayes for the capital or Wessport and it gave Collins an opportune moment to finally take down the captain. Collins did not need his garrison to look more idiotic with the small tricks played on his soldiers by Cullen.

Forster was called into his office one frigid evening at the end of October. The proud captain went to sit before the cluttered desk with neatly stacked documents. Collins regarded his inferior officer for a long while. Forster was scowling, his icy blue eyes piercing through Collins' very soul. As always, the long hair was impeccably gathered into a low ponytail with a black bow, just as most officers would have at that time. Collins gave Forster a stack of documents for him to read.

A gloved hand reached for the paper as Forster's eyes trailed over them. He looked at each neatly written word and Collins waited as he regarded the stern mask of the soldier before him. Despite himself, he felt a satisfied smirk tug at his lips. When Forster was done, he closed the folder and gave the papers back to Collins.

"Dismissal and imprisonment on what grounds, Major Collins?" asked the low, growling voice of the scowling man before him. Collins was surprised, Forster did not seem too preoccupied with what he had just read.

"On tax fraud, my good captain. It has been made known to me that you have taxed the good people of this district this past summer without the presence or approval of a magistrate and that you presented intentions to keep that money in your own possession."

"Do not tell me this information stems from the same blackguard who broke into the treasury and—"

"I do not associate with thieves and bandits, captain. My source is a different one and quite protected. I also have the necessary documentation to prove that you had no grounds for another taxation so soon." Collins leaned forward with a threatening frown. "I may not be able to prove _all_ that you have done in this district, but you will at least pay for some of your crimes." He wrinkled his nose. "You are a disgrace to the uniform and what it stands for."

Any other man would have pleaded or begged for another way out. Forster could well see decades in prison after the little stunt he had pulled to fill his pocket. Yet, the man was seemingly untouched by such information.

"Is this also the reason you had the whole garrison questioned?" Forster asked as he leaned back in the chair and crossed his fingers in front of him.

"You are not the only one to be sent away, no. The corporal who helped you will also see his life run out in a cell."

Forster nodded slowly, an eerie and wicked smirk tugging at his lips. The frigid October air pressed against the closed window and the fire roared in the chimney next to them. But it was as if its warmth couldn't reach either man.

"You have nothing to say in your defense?" Collins asked.

"I put up with you, sir, because you did not do much in getting in my way—"

"I _am_ your superior officer and you will not speak to me in such an insulting way!" Collins had risen to stand before the captain, not realizing that the latter was merely toying with him.

Forster's smug smirk widened across his harsh features, the angular face twisted to look up at the handsome major. "I think it is time you were taken down from that shining pedestal of yours, major. You have been too comfortable in your position here." Forster reached into his coat and retrieved a folded piece of paper that he handed to the major.

Collins snatched it out of the extended hand and scowled at Forster as he unfolded the paper and started reading. He had not read but three lines before his face grew ashen. The more he read, the smugger Forster became. He went to stand and started pacing about the office.

"One might question why a decorated major might search such a remote post. But I think it quite smart of you. Hayes is removed, you probably thought yourself protected from the big cities here. And, indeed, what a life you could have built here. What a pity. Had you only kept quiet and not irritated me, major," Forster sighed with a shaking head. "Indeed, such a distinguished _gentleman_, beloved by all here, even dignified enough to catch the attention of lovely Miss Swan and courting her. I must say that I am impressed with the social life you have been able to lead in Hayes. I was never as loved. But, then again, I suppose I did not make the same effort as you," he chuckled.

Collins was now trembling as he regarded words that he had never in his life hoped to read again. But there they were, black on white, standing out like daggers in his eyes.

Forster stopped and turned to Collins. "You could have remained in that comfort and no one would have been the wiser. You can still remain as you are, but keep pestering me, Collins, and everyone in this town, province, and country will be made aware of who you truly are—your rather _lacking_ connections and nonexistent title of gentleman. I wonder what Hayes will do once her favorite son is revealed as a fraud? What will they say when the dashing major is revealed to be nothing more than a common soldier who switched names with a dying officer during the battle of Bordeaux in '91?" Forster wondered.

On that piece of paper, was the wording and signature of several men of stature that confirmed that James Collins, then captain, had succumbed to death in France as Angloa fought the French. Collins never thought it would come back to haunt him. There were also statements of his studies under the French master La Boëssière as a soldier, before his time as Collins, stating he had been kicked out of the academy by the master himself once it was revealed the money financing his fencing studies had been stolen.

"I ignore if you had this real Collins' permission or if you simply stole his clothes off his body. Was it still warm when you switched identities? Did you know he had few friends and no family to identify him? I must know, sir, for it is indeed a great feat!"

By now, the major had gone completely pale. The blackmail Forster held over him was so extensive that if it ever got out, it would truly send _him_ to jail for impersonating an officer. Or worse, it might end in a hanging, the execution reserved only for the most dishonorable criminals in the land.

"You didn't count on the fact that James Collins had some friends of influence, eh?" Forster walked up to him and leered. "But we are friends now that all is revealed—ah…I suppose I should be using your true name, _Mr. Miller_."

Collins—or Miller as was his true name—couldn't breathe, he couldn't process so much information. Nausea rose and his mind started spinning around as he grew ever more ashen.

"Do sit down, man, lest you faint like a common wench," the captain said, pressing the other down into the chair. He kneeled inches from Collins' face. "Worry not, Miller. I will not spill your secret and these men who signed that paper will not be alerted to your existence. As long as you let me continue my affairs and do not get involved in them, you can continue to live your rather comfortable life. But," Forster added. "I believe you must now remain here in Hayes for the foreseeable future. I cannot have you run off to Safeira and think you rid of me." The paper had been taken from his limp hands and Collins did all in his power to stop shaking.

Forster rose up and patted the major on the shoulder. "Be proud now, lad! It isn't every day that a fishmonger's son rises so high up in society!"

"You—you _devil_!" Collins growled. He didn't know what else to do but show his anger. Better to show anger than fear.

Forster shook his head. "Do not get any ideas, Miller. Continue as you have, let the occurrences of the past remain there. I should hate it if Miss Swan were suddenly overcome by a burst of melancholia and decided to end her life as well," he sneered.

The words were enough to cause Collins' heart to stop. He knew it then, that he could not go up against Forster for fear of what he might do. Collins was trapped and he grew dismayed by such heart-wrenching information.

"Now, tell me that you will abide by this new arrangement, Major Collins."

He had always had pride, even as a commoner with nothing to his name. Collins—Miller had always strived to do the best he could with his situation…but, he was always scorned. His mother had been a governess and had taught him the ways of the upper classes. He had been given the illusion that if he behaved and acted like a gentleman, he might one day become one in name as well. But life had scorned him. He had wished to learn the art of fencing, like any other gentleman, but they had never had any substantial money. Miller had stolen from his mother's employer when he was in his teen years, joined the military and traveled as a soldier to France. In the uniform, it had been easy to get into the academy, especially with all the money he held. He had not given away his status and they simply supposed him to be a gentleman's son, until it was all revealed and he had to flee in disgrace after having trained under Boëssière for the better of three years.

In Bordeaux, he had made friends with a young and foolish captain who had inherited a fortune after the death of his last living relative. Most of their extended regiment died and it was there, on the battlefield, as the captain took his last breath, that he decided he should also have a nice life and a name that would easier get him through it. Thus, died Miller and Captain James Collins returned to Angloa.

The rest was history.

He did not wish to give it up. Surely, Bella Swan would not scorn him should she ever find out. But he grew frightened of how their relationship might suffer. He knew her father liked him, Charles Swan wanted his daughter to make a powerful connection. Marrying a distinguished gentleman and major was a good connection. If he was revealed as being nothing more than a 'Miller', the father would never consent to their union.

Hayes had suffered thus far, and now it would suffer more as Collins' hands were ultimately tied by the wretch that was Forster. He had no other choice. He was selfish in that regard. Bella Swan was his ultimate goal for he had truly fallen for the girl.

"I will…abide," he said through gritted teeth. It produced a big grin in Forster who took the documents Collins had prepared about him and his imprisonment. He threw them into the fire and watched the accusations burn in the licking flames. The blackmail he placed in the inner pocket of his coat.

"Know that there are more such documents like the one I have. Should anything happen to me, Hayes and Angloa will be made aware of your true identity, Collins. Mark my words."

In the course of thirty minutes, his whole life had once more been turned upside down.

* * *

**A/N: Ahhhh, another week, another chapter. As always, thank you for the reviews on the previous one, thank you for reading and thank you for all the positive feedback! I have two weeks left of oppositions and exams and then I'm free to post according to the old schedule again! Sweden is lush and green and beautiful now, just how I like it. And I'm glad we're having such short nights and loooong days again. This is my favorite time of the year so excuse me while I go out and sip some tea on the porch now ;)**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	19. Chapter 19

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 19_

The start of 1795 was an exceptionally cold one. The winter snows bore harshly down in the north at the start of December and began spreading across the land until reaching Cadherra in early January. However, Hayes did not see the return of Bella Swan until February. Her stay in Zafra had been a most pleasant one. She had delighted in daily excursions to neighboring towns and rides out in nature. Jasper had some close friends in Zafra which they would visit every so often, and she became enamored with the county. The Cadherran valley could be cold and harsh during winter and the trio had escaped the icy tendrils of the cold in the pleasant mildness of Zafra.

While sitting by the fire, in the elegant salons of Zafran aristocrats, they would speak of much, even going as far as mentioning politics across the waters and inland. Cullen's crusade had gained fame across Angloa and his fight against the garrison and bandits was the talk in every salon or drawing room of note. The romantic portrayal of the ghost of Raven's Grove had ladies fanning themselves and sighing loudly. It made Bella wrinkle her nose, for she knew more than well what a despicable and impudent man he truly was. She could not say that he had almost dropped her into a pond or insulted her horse, for it would give away her connection to the blackguard.

The word 'Audeamus' was now the backdrop for villagers who wished to rise up against their local administration and demand justice. A wave of change was slowly extending about Angloa, and Hayes was the source which it stemmed from. Whatever happened in Hayes, would most likely determine what happened in the rest of the island. Thus, Collins, Wilson, and Forster felt the pressure from the Cadherran provincial council and Safeira—even from the king himself. Yet no more soldiers could be spared from the Royal Guard. They were alone in their endeavor, until such time that truly required more forces to be sent in.

In the north, some towns had bundled together, and their villagers demanded a more just treatment, all supported by some choice generals and other officers who felt that the wind of change had to touch their beloved country as well. Tension was rampant throughout the island, but few commented on such things. The gentry and nobility wished to live as they always had, and Bella even noticed it down south. Even in the royal palace of Aldea in Safeira, there seemed to be no wish to give in, to allow the farmers and other workers to have their say in society. And if Angloa did not sober up, Bella suspected a revolution might come, regardless of what happened in Hayes or not.

Eventually, their carriage took the Hales and Miss Swan up the flatlands of the southern Cadherran border, passing the town of Maesir and continuing on the king's highway to Hayes. What alarmed the small traveling group most of all was the news that Forster had once more started exerting his dominance over the people of Hayes in an attempt to quiet them. November and December had been relatively tame, but January saw several imprisonments and even execution. Collins had not spoken out against Forster to everyone's astonishment. He had gone as far as defending the vile actions of the much-despised captain, presenting each case with rather clear evidence of why each person was sentenced a thief or in liaison with the bandits of the Grove. Collins thus made it seem like Forster's sentences were just and in rule with the law—when most knew it was not so. It angered everyone—even the richer families of the county. Collins was soon shunned by the same society which had so admired him a few months earlier.

After a few weeks, Cullen had snuck into the major's personal chambers—trying to unearth what had happened. Collins was more silent than a grave. It was enough that Forster knew of his secret, he would not have the bandit of Raven's Grove blackmailing him or judging him as well. When he brushed off his misconduct, it had outright angered the masked man to such a degree that he made it perfectly clear he no longer trusted Collins. Their alliance had been short and fruitless. That same night, in his chambers, Cullen had said as much. Indeed, allies did not threaten each other. Collins had grown rather ashamed at the situation he found himself in, but his hands were tied by the blackmail Forster held over him. He would never admit to anyone—even less to someone like Cullen—what Forster knew.

When Bella Swan's presence was once more announced back in Hayes, the major went to call on her the second day of her return. At first, Bella would not believe all the things the maids and Dory had gossiped to her about Collins.

He had stood in their grand entry, rather nervous. He held his hat under his right arm and straightened the dark green uniform. Collins had taken great care in arriving with a polished appearance. Charles Swan had allowed him entry, but not before regarding the major with judging eyes. Collins had not yet been abandoned by all in Hayes. Emmett McCarty still found time to cross swords with him once a week. But it now had to be done at the garrison as the proud Carlisle Masen would not allow the major entry into his townhouse anymore.

Bella skipped down the stairs in an elegant navy-blue gown with a gathered back and high waist. Over it, she had on a white coat lined with fox fur and a black bonnet placed over the gathered chestnut curls. "Major Collins, it has been too long!" Bella exclaimed as she walked up to the man who was courting her.

"Miss Swan," he bowed, giving out a sigh in relief that she had not turned her back to him. "You look lovelier than when you left. Zafra has done you well, I believe," he said in his charming voice as he took her hand and kissed the back of it. A blush crept its way up to her cheeks.

"You flatter me, sir," she said. Bella had a wish to get away from the judging eyes of her father and some maids who kept to the top of the stairs. Charles could not forbid her to see Collins for he had no grounds to do so. Collins was not entirely shunned liked Forster, and he had accepted that he could court his daughter, after all. But that did not mean he had to now accept that Collins had turned his back on Hayes for whatever reason.

"Come, I thought we might ride down to the promenade and regard the stream when it is frozen," he told her with a flashing smile. "I took the liberty of asking one of the servants to saddle your mare," he told her.

"That sounds delightful, major. I have missed April and our rides. Sharing one with you in this breathtaking snowy landscape shall be a delight," she breathed as they walked down to the stables. There she spotted Sgt. Thompson and some other lancers waiting for them.

"I did not know we were to have an escort," she said, unable to hide the slight frown.

Collins' jaw tensed and he looked apologetic. "Forgive me, it is a temporary measure for not only my safety but yours as well. The uniform does not inspire as much sympathy as it once did and a certain scoundrel of Raven's Grove has been seen various times by that stream," Collins said.

Bella kept her face neutral, not wanting Collins to see how alarmed she had grown. "Cullen is after you, major?"

"He goes after anyone wearing the uniform," one of the soldiers responded.

Bella pressed her own lips together. While riding into Hayes in the carriage, she had taken note that several posters had been placed in the larger squares and meeting places—posters with a vague sketch of Cullen that asked for him dead or alive, with the promise of a grand sum: one thousand golden crowns. It was a lot of money for those who barely had enough for winter. After all the taxes, Hayes found itself in constant poverty. Even though Cullen had broken into the treasury time and again and redistributed the money, Forster always found new ways to take it away from the people. And neither Wilson or Collins came down on the captain. It was at that time that Collins realized Forster had to have a hold over Wilson as well.

"Miss Swan, how good to see you after all these months!" Thompson glowed once he caught sight of the chestnut beauty. She did not catch Collins releasing a sigh of relief, happy he did not have to further answer her inquiries.

A servant came up with April saddled and ready. Bella had to keep yet a neutral face as she noticed it was a side saddle. She was not used to riding it as she always rode astride. She saw Collins beaming. Did he not know she rode astride? Had he not seen her seating April multiple times?

She was helped up on her horse and took the reins. "I hope Lucy has been treating you well enough, sergeant?" she asked as they left the side courtyard and made their way out of town.

Thompson beamed. "Oh yes, miss, most kindly. And Dory has even offered me some meat pies while you were gone—by her own accord!"

"Maybe Dory has grown a fondness for you," Bella said without turning around, smiling slyly at Collins. She could practically feel the heat of Thompson's cheeks as they grew red.

The snows had stopped falling for the past week, but still, the valley was almost drowned in the white flakes. It had a white blanket drawn over it and the rooftop of Raven's Grove. Hayes was so different in the brightness of the snow, a quiet landscape that reminded of the clouds that graced the skies. The puffy white smoke would rise from the chimneys more often during winter as more wood was cast into the fireplaces to keep warm.

The broad flatlands toward the stream were inviting to her as they passed the outskirts of Hayes. Bella's eyes widened with renewed ardor. She had not seated April in months and was certain her mare needed exercise. She noticed it in the eager way the horse longed to stretch her legs.

As they trotted through the high snow, a sleigh neared them. It was a most handsome sleigh, unlike anything she had ever seen before, in sleek black with many furs placed over the people who sat in it. As it neared it slowed down until stopping by her. Rosalie McCarty sat with an elegant white fur hat atop her blond, gathered locks and a thick coat in pink wool and white rabbit's fur matching her hat. She arched an eyebrow as she caught sight the youth seating her horse. The man she traveled with turned around.

Bella and Edward's eyes crossed, and she expected the usual bored and arrogant look. He had a dark scarf over nose and mouth to guard his face against the cold, thus she was only met by his eyes. Bella's heart skipped a beat as she beheld their intensity. Emerald green orbs sought her out and burrowed deep into her. She soon found the usual glazed expression in them as they regarded her.

"Mrs. McCarty, Mr. Masen," she inclined her head in a slight bow. She recognized Edward from his frivolous clothes; otherwise, she would have been oblivious who hid beneath the scarf. "Tis a good day for a ride, is it not?" she asked them. Masen had a very fashionable fur-felt top hat that tapered toward the end with a buckle in the front. His coat was of wool and fur as well, in a bright screaming blue that scraped at her eyes.

"A very agreeable day, I should say, Miss Swan," Rosalie acknowledged. She did not, however, direct a pleasant word to the major who shortly joined them.

Her eyebrow arched as she watched them, bundled in the soft and warm furs in that sleigh. Indeed, a sleigh was more comfortable, but it would never give the same thrill of riding a horse across a bare country. She turned heftily to Collins and a smirk spread on her lips.

"I'll race you to the stream, major," she urged as she dug her heels and whip into April, sending her mare off into a fast gallop.

Rosalie rolled her eyes as she turned around to see the white horse dart for the tree-line. Collins darted after her. "Wait, Miss Swan!" he cried behind her. There was no sound of merriment in his voice, only worry.

"How tiresome," Rosalie mumbled. She did not receive an answer from Masen. Instead, his eyes trailed after the brunette, fixed entirely on her atop her horse.

April tore up the snow as her mistress let her run loose. Bella soared, free once more. She could hear Collins and the lancers close in and she urged April to run faster.

In the midst of a few seconds, the valley rang loudly as a shot erupted violently through it. April reared, grown afraid of the sound and Bella panicked as her mare turned wild. Indeed, having been cooped up in the stables, with too much energy, April was more difficult than usual to handle. The mare turned around and darted back. But what had before been a controlled canter was now a frantic run as the horse tried to get away from the sound. Another shot echoed their way, someone in the tree-line was aiming for the lancers, not mindful of the young woman and her horse. Or maybe, they were aiming for the young woman herself?

Bella had never been on a runaway horse in her life and she thought she would fall to her death. The side saddle made it harder for her to stay on and she gripped at the mane of April as the reins had fallen. She was flat forward in the saddle and thought she would fall should April rear again.

They neared the sleigh and April jumped hastily to the side. Alas, Bella Swan was not quick enough to follow in the sudden movement. In the increasing speed of her mare, she flew off the saddle in an impressive arch. Before even having hit the ground, she saw one of the figures in the sleigh push past the coverings of the furs and rush to her. Bella's breath hitched in her throat as she landed, her left shoulder taking the weight of the impact, followed by her back and legs. The snow took most of the hit and softened her fall, but her head still hit against it harshly and Bella bit her teeth together at the instant pain.

Collins had watched the horse run away in horror with Bella on it. Without hesitating, he had darted after her while sending Thompson and the lancers to the tree-line. He thought he would get to her first, but it appeared Mr. Masen had darted out of his sleigh before the major could approach her.

Bella lay on her back with her chestnut hair fallen out of its pins, spread about her. She stared up at the steel sky with wide eyes. Her breath came out in a cloud of white smoke and she saw the alarmed eyes of a man as he leaned over her.

"Miss Swan!" a rough, worried voice growled in her ear. It was a voice she recognized from somewhere and which she might have pinpointed, were it not for the dizzy spell that increased. Edward Masen came to kneel next to her and his emerald orbs gazed down into her chocolate ones. "Miss Swan," he urged once more, worried as she did not respond. "Can you move at all?"

Bella worked her limbs and drew a sharp breath in pain as she moved her left shoulder. "M-my shoulder," she slurred. She tried to sit up, but a gentle hand pushed on her other shoulder.

"Wait, we need to make sure nothing is broken," he said through the scarf. It was only then that she registered who this man was. Those were not the usual characteristics of the Edward Masen she was accustomed to. Much of the drawl and the thinness to his voice had completely subsided. There was a genuine concern in his orbs she had not before beheld. Maybe it was enhanced because his lower face was still hidden by his scarf.

She tried to say something to him, but the dizziness grew until her eyes rolled back into her head and Bella fainted. Collins got to her just as she lost consciousness. He threw himself off his horse and was about to cradle her head when Masen stopped him.

"That is…enough, major. We need to get her inside and warmed up. I shall take her to my house as it is closer than hers." There was a strain to Masen's voice which Collins had not heard before. It was as if the fop was exerting great control over it. Edward was a millisecond from screaming at Collins for his folly and it took great self-restraint not to do so. But the underlying anger interlaced with his quick and sure commands could not be ignored. The thinness and drawl had returned somewhat, however.

"Edward, is she alright?" Rosalie inquired, genuinely looking worried for the young woman.

"I did not think they'd _shoot_ at me, much less her!" Collins said flustered as he beheld the closed eyes of the young woman. Despite it all, she looked peaceful, with her pale skin and ruby lips she was truly an apparition to both of them.

"No, neither did I," Edward muttered under his breath. "You should go with your soldiers, Collins," he said. There was a silent reprimand in his eyes that Collins could not ignore. Even the vain Edward Masen seemed to judge him for having turned his back on Hayes.

"I will not abandon her—"

Edward bent and picked her up with ease, surprising both Rosalie and Collins with his hidden strength. "There is little else you can do for her, major," the irritated voice drawled under the scarf. Collins could not read Masen's expression in his face, but he could hear the vexation the other man held with him. "I am taking her in my sleigh, she needs a physician."

With little ceremony, he carried her to the sleigh while Rosalie made some room for her and helped to place the fainted woman next to her. Despite their distaste for one another, Rosalie warmly placed some furs about Bella as her head rested against her embrace.

"Come, Joseph, let us be off home, and make haste!" Edward ordered. Rosalie pressed her lips firmly together; she had never seen her brother so decisive before. "Major!" Masen drawled with a bothered air, turning around in his seat. "Make sure the road for us is secure going into town and see if one of your lancers might catch her horse."

The sleigh moved at an impressive pace toward the town and Collins stared in defeat as it became smaller and smaller against the backdrop of Hayes.

* * *

Bella only knew the dull ache at the back of her head and the weight pressing against her form as she struggled to breathe in the suffocating heat. In a gasp she opened her eyes, quickly regretting such an action. The more clarity she gained of her situation, the more she became aware of how uncomfortable she was. Her whole body ached, and she remembered how she had flown through the air, only to land with a harsh impact in the snow.

Her left shoulder ached severely, and she noted that someone had placed it in a sling. Under the mound of covers, Bella started realizing she had been quite underdressed and only found herself in her shift. The rest—from her fur hat to her corset—had been removed.

Bella strived to open her eyes once more, to find out where her surroundings were. She was met by the light blue damask canopy of an elegant bed and furnishings of a similar room to match. Right in front of her—past the ottoman that had been placed at the foot of her bed, trailing past a blue rug and a quaint exquisite sofa from the past decade—was a tall window that let in some of the remaining light of day as the sun set. To her left, in the heart of a white fireplace, roared the heated flames—no doubt the source for the pressing warmth that seemed to suffocate her. On a white rococo chair next to the immense bed were her clothes. Bella discerned the white coat she had worn.

She had not an inkling as to where she was. The last thing she could recall were two piercing green eyes looking down at her with worry seeping into them. And a voice, so present in her mind, so delicious against her ear, making her limbs quake as it spoke.

A voice she had to recognize, but that did not fit at all with the man she supposed it belonged to. Maybe her jumbled brain had imagined the voice that had come out of his mouth.

The tall door further to her left opened, bringing with them a severe draft that soon emptied the room from the worst of its heat.

"Goodness gracious me, it is positively stifling in here," she heard a familiar voice mumble to itself.

Bella recognized it as Alice ventured into her room and was partly illuminated by the fire. When she saw the young woman's eyes open, Alice rushed to her.

"Bella? Oh, sweet Isabella!" She came to check on her, everything from her temperature to her lips to see if they were parched. "I shall vent out some more of this stuffy air." Alice placed down the candle she'd been holding and opened one window so that it was slightly ajar. After a few minutes had passed, Bella felt as if she could breathe again.

"Where am I, Alice?" she croaked. Alice had taken a stool to sit by her and proceeded to pour a glass of fresh water into a cup. She gently helped Bella to sit up, with the aid of many pillows and cushions to rest behind her head. The brunette flinched in pain as she had moved her shoulder too quickly.

"At my family's home," Alice answered, gently helping Bella drink some water. As soon as the cool liquid touched her lips, the young woman felt rejuvenated. "There, some more. Good," Alice cooed like a mother hen. "Your fever is almost gone now."

Bella settled back in the pillows, the mere act of drinking a cup of water had done wonders for her. "How long have I been here?"

The cup was placed back on the tray and put to the side. Alice settled down on the stool, ready to answer any questions thrown her way. "More than half a day. Your parents are downstairs, we have given your mother a room while your father runs your house. Shall I alert them to—"

"No!" Bella groaned, pressing her right hand across her eyes. She had not the strength to deal with her parents at the present. "Maybe in the morrow."

Alice settled back down and understood. "It caused quite the stir when you arrived. We all heard the shots echo through the valley and thought a skirmish between the lancers and Cullen's followers had erupted.

Bella had no mind to ask who Cullen's followers were, but she could make herself an idea based on the information she already retained. "Rosalie seemed especially worried for you," Alice leaned in with a grin. "Oh, but we all were... until Dr. Blake came and saw to you, saying you would be alright."

"My shoulder," Bella started. "It is very sore."

"It was dislocated, I am afraid. You will have to keep it up like that for at least a fortnight. Doctor Blake will come tomorrow as well, to see on your progress."

Bella smiled. "I have a vague memory of your brother carrying me to the sleigh," she mumbled.

"Rosalie would speak of nothing else. She was quite impressed with Edward's surprising gallantry; it is so unlike him, but I am glad he was there when he was. She said he acted with a cool head and had he not brought you here so quickly, you might have taken for worse."

"I am sure she exaggerates. But she is right, Mr. Masen was very gallant," Bella agreed.

"I do not think it will last, he kept bothering Dr. Blake with how you should be handled. Father finally kicked him out of the room," Alice sighed. She stared at the flickering flames of the fireplace. The open window that had previously caused a pleasant draft, now brought on too much chill and she went to close it. "But it was Emmett who carried you inside the house and to this bed."

"In the morrow, I should like to thank him and Mr. Masen especially," Bella sighed. "I am glad he was there, your brother, despite…" she trailed off, stopping herself. Bella had wanted to remark on how vain Edward could be, but, alas, she could not. Something in his eyes, in his voice, had thrown her off. Now that she was clearer of mind, she remembered again the powerful commands he had given, how the drawl had all but disappeared. She remembered the way he had looked at her with such genuine worry that she herself had worried for her wellbeing. But what had thrown Bella off most of all, had been how safe she had felt in his embrace, in the way he so gently had handled her. She remembered fainting and slightly coming too as he carried her and then drifting off again.

"I will have the cook prepare you some broth and then I will let you rest, for nightfall is soon to be upon us and I imagine you are still tired," Alice said as she stood up.

"Indeed," Bella mumbled, her eyes still drawn in by the fire. She did feel a general strain and fatigue, her body still ached. But her interest was piqued. Would she find a different Edward Masen tomorrow?

* * *

Deep within the tendrils of Raven's Grove, where no soldier or bandit would venture, merriment could be heard as men warmed themselves inside caves around fires of their own design. The little group following Cullen that had consisted of Jacob and Jonah had grown to two dozen the past three months. As more men had fled from the tyranny of Forster in Hayes, or persecution by the captain, they found themselves joining Cullen's cause. Jacob eventually took the role as second in command once Cullen noted that keeping such a group of young men in check would be difficult. They were people with strong convictions and ideals that needed to be supervised, lest they commit stupid acts. Jonah helped as well, and together, the three of them directed the group to perform good acts in aiding the citizens of Hayes.

Jacob was good at keeping the men in check. Sometimes they would aid Cullen in redistributing the reclaimed money from the treasury back to the people. Sometimes they would play pranks on Sgt. Thompson and his troops whenever they ventured into Raven's Grove. But, mostly, they would keep the woods clean from any bandits. The problem had but all gone away, which was probably why Forster had once again attacked the people with new and different taxes.

As more had fled Hayes from persecution by the hated captain, their camp had to grow. It was no more some flimsy sheds next to a rock formation. Jacob and Cullen had together scoured the forest and eventually found a large network on caves to the east where they settled. There the men could keep dry and warm as the snow raged on, and they could store food that the villagers would smuggle to them.

Those in Cullen's resistance—people who chanted Audeamus on a daily basis and lived by such words—knew it was a temporary measure and that Forster would have to be taken out eventually. But they realized that Cullen needed time to unmask the man for what he truly was. A small town could not overthrow an administration, nor the power of the Royal Guard in a single night. And many did not wish the same anarchy they had witnessed in France during the reign of terror.

Jacob Black walked through the camp, removing the soaked furs as he entered the main cave, guarding himself against the blizzard that temporarily raged outside. Night had just fallen as he returned, and he was met by cheerful men as they saluted their second in command. Most had gathered around fires that dotted the vast interior of the cave, eating their supper that had been cooked by the only three men who knew anything about preparing food. The general air in those caves was always jovial and some had burst out into a cheerful song that echoed against the stonewalls.

Alas, Jacob did not seem cheerful in the least. As he made his way to the heart of the first cave, many started murmuring about the dark look set upon his features. Jonah came up to him. "How goes it, Jacob? You seem rather upset," the bandit stated as he handed him a cup. "Some spiced wine and venison shall better your mood. Ben and Jimmy caught a stag this morning and we have been preparing the meat. You shall have a fresh stew tonight!" Even Jonah was gladdened. It appeared that the vast amount of meat was the source for such cheerfulness. But the news did nothing to wipe the frown off Jacob's features.

"Gather the men, Jonah. I must speak with all of them," Jacob said through gritted teeth.

"Has something happened in Hayes?" Jonah asked. He paled slightly. "Another execution?" The moment the word was uttered, those closest quieted down and lent their ears in Jacob's direction.

"Gather the men. I need to make sense of things before Cullen comes and has all of our heads," he mumbled with sunken shoulders. Jacob seemed to be suppressing a growing rage and worry.

Jonah frowned. "I…will do so, of course," he said. And as Jonah gathered the men, Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose. He had no idea how to go about such news. Throwing accusations against his men would not be a pleasant task.

Soon, the cheerfulness of that cave died down. People put down their wine and meat and came to stand before Jacob as he regarded the lot. Indeed, he could never imagine anyone of them would go against his orders or wish ill against one of their own. He cast a glance to the side of the cave, where all of their weapons were stored. It looked relatively untouched.

"I have just returned from St. Nicholas and from a most disheartening conversation with Friar Nathan," Jacob began. The young men before him grew severe and concerned expressions.

"Is it another imprisonment or execution?" they asked worriedly.

Jacob took in the twenty or so faces, none of them seemed to be nervous; acting like they had done something wrong.

"Earlier today," he began. "A small troop of soldiers escorting Major Collins and Miss Isabella Swan was shot upon from someone in the tree-line," he said. "Miss Swan took an unfortunate tumble and is as of now bedridden. I have not heard more concerning her state, yet Friar Nathan assures me he will inquire in the morning and keep me informed."

Silence settled in the cave, such a silence that one could hear a pin drop were it not for the crackling fires. They all understood what Jacob was insinuating, yet he could not bring himself to ask it. He looked at the men and did not wish anyone of them to have foolishly gone to the tree-line and shot at Collins and Isabella.

"I do not wish to believe that anyone of you might be involved in such an incident," Jacob stated. Jonah, together with most, held a stern expression. "But I come in good faith, wanting to hear what you have to say."

"Mr. Black, we have not ventured even close to the valley or outside the forest. All of us have been here today, either hunting or preparing the stag once it was brought back," Ben, one of the men who had caught the stag, said.

Jacob nodded. "As I myself thought."

"We may all not have a personal acquaintance with Miss Swan, but we know of her and we'd not hurt a hair upon her head. She is a beloved citizen of Hayes," another said.

At first, Jacob thought the men might have shot at her due to the fact that she was courted by Collins. But Bella had just returned from Zafra, she could not yet have been informed or even have seen how Collins behaved. He was certain that once she realized the man Collins truly was, she too would turn her back to him and sever their unfortunate connection.

"But if none of us attacked them, then who did?" asked another man. As they had been speaking, another shadow had crept into the cave unbeknownst to them. It was a man they all admired, even if they had never seen his face. He had been keeping to the darkness for the past few minutes and captured most of the conversation, listening intently, not wishing to disturb it by alerting to his presence.

Jacob pressed his lips together and squared his jaw. "That is what I would like to find out as well," he told them.

"You don't think Forster is sending his own soldiers to impersonate us and giving us a bad name?" Jonah inquired. "It would be just like that blackguard," he spat, revealing his utter hatred for the captain.

Jacob stood in the flickering light of the fires and looked pensive. "I do not wish to speculate when I am not yet certain."

"Maybe Cullen should sneak in and _ask_ the good captain, eh? It has been some time since he genuinely embarrassed the man. I think Forster needs some reminding on who he should be fearing around here!"

"Hear, hear!" came the jolly shouts of the other men as they delighted in the thought of having Forster once more bested by Cullen. They delighted in the fact that Cullen enjoyed toying with the captain, but they had never actually seen it in action. The last time Cullen had crossed swords with him had been during summer and it was time again, thought many.

Jacob and Jonah could not help as they chuckled. He was about to speak up when a dark and rich voice called out from further inside the cave.

"Jacob, come with me if you please," it said. Many jumped, alarmed as they caught sight of him.

Some truly believed he was a ghost, from the way he could simply appear among them. They all liked Cullen immensely, he always had a witty remark and insightful conversation. He treated each man as a true equal and there was a gallant way about him; a chivalry the more superstitious acclaimed as to him being from a different era. Yet, now, the voice had grown more severe, rougher around the edges. He must have heard most of their conversation and many looked as Jacob Black walked to the shadows, to the inner network of caves.

He saw Cullen disappear, the black form entirely swallowed by the darkness. Torches lined the passageways and he knew where Cullen was going. The principal cave—the opening—was largest in both roof and width, it was the place where they stored their food and weapons. Some would sleep there to guard in case the soldiers ever found their haven. If one ventured further into the cave, there were a few passageways, leading to smaller so-called rooms. In total, they had found three "rooms", all connected by larger passages. In two of those rooms, the rest of the men would sleep as it was dryer and more protected from the chill. In the final room, they kept maps and plans of their missions on the garrison and Hayes. Four barrels with thin wooden planks suspended amongst them made up a table where all their information was kept. That was where Cullen would often speak in private with either Jacob or Jonah. That was where he now took Mr. Black, to have a private word with him.

Jacob had to bend down as he entered through the small opening, finally catching sight of the black-garbed man in the well-lit room.

He stood before him in a tranquil manner, but Jacob felt the intensity of his eyes as they regarded him behind the mask. While Cullen was usually good humored and encouraged jokes and laughter, he now grew somber and utterly threatening.

"I ask you to trust me, while I don't show my face. It is only fair that I should place the same blind trust in you," Cullen's strong voice boomed across the room. Somewhere water trickled deeper within the network of passages, a stream that had not entirely been frozen.

"You heard the men, sir. If they say they did not do it, I believe them."

"I do too," the masked man said as he walked to stand behind the table, leaning over it with extended arms, showing a sign of irritation, worry, and slight fatigue. Jacob knew better than most, he knew Cullen was no ghost—not that he would encourage such a thing among the men. It was good for some to be slightly superstitious, it made fewer of them question the man.

"But then we remain with the crucial question of _who_ attacked Major Collins," he said. "_Or_ Miss Swan."

"Tis evident: this reeks of Forster," Jacob growled.

The dark eyes regarded him for a while. "But, Jacob, did Forster attack Major Collins or Miss Swan?"

"Does it matter?"

"Well," the velvety voice spoke in dark and rich tones. "Major Collins has been letting Forster do more and more as he pleases lately, which could mean that he also stands behind this attack, in an attempt to discredit us. However, it could also mean that Collins has had enough of Forster and reprimanded him, thus making Forster try to get rid of him by having some of his more trusted soldiers pose as us."

"You said you tried to warn Collins about Forster—and that he is…_was_ a good man," Jacob said. He saw the exposed lips of the masked man press together as he squared his jaw.

"I think he still is," he said, looking back up at Jacob and locking eyes. "I think he wishes to be, but something might stand in his way. And he would not tell me what it was last I spoke with him."

"Blackmail?"

"Aye, Forster has some hold over Collins. It must indeed be severe if he lets the captain do as he pleases. Have you not noticed that as soon as Collins gave Forster leeway to once more start claiming extra taxes in Hayes, the attacks of the bandits have died down?"

"We already knew the bandits of Raven's Grove and Forster were connected," Jacob stated.

"This is further proof of that," Cullen nodded.

Jacob shifted and scratched the back of his head. "And what if Forster was targeting Miss Swan instead? If he is blackmailing Collins as you say, then a way to make him bend to his will is by threatening the woman he is currently courting."

"That is what I believe as well," Cullen agreed. He would not share his other theories. He somehow feared that his own connection with Isabella Swan had been discovered—that he had given her the note and brought her into this whole mess. No indeed, it made more sense to him that Collins was blackmailed and had grown tired of Forster's little tirade in Hayes and spoken up against him.

"If such is the case, what can we do?" Jacob asked and felt hopelessness extend within his chest. "For this will not end until whatever Forster has over Collins disappears or until Miss Swan breaks her connection with Collins," he said. "She is a kind and gentle soul, but stubborn. She will try to see the good in Collins and wish to help him. If I urge her to cut ties with him and explain why she will only want to help him further."

Despite himself, Cullen chuckled. He knew exactly what Jacob referred to, Bella would spend more time with Collins out of spite. "Thus, we must urge Collins to see reason," he said.

Jacob smirked. "I think Forster needs a lecturing from you too, he has grown too cocky."

Cullen chuckled again. "I will not cross swords with Forster for your amusement, Black." The masked man crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, yet the smile on his lips spoke differently.

"You will need some able-bodied men to secure the garrison while you speak with Collins," Jacob said.

"That I will," the other blinked. "Not too many. Gather those you think discreet enough for such a mission."

"Wait, we are going now?"

Cullen had already started heading to the opening, the broad shoulders that had previously been tensed were now relaxed. He turned around with an arrogant smirk. "Yes, now, Black. When did you think I would go?" he asked, bending down to get out of the room.

"Well, I don't know!" Jacob exclaimed as he went after him, growing giddy. He had never before actually seen Cullen in action, only heard about it.

* * *

He awoke to shouts echoing across the courtyard. It was after midnight as he cast a glance at the small clock he kept to the other side of the room. Collins cursed—it had to be another one of Cullen's pranks played on the soldiers. It was growing tiresome to the point where he wouldn't actually mind seeing the man caught. The soldiers would always dart after him with glinting eyes, thinking this might be the time they caught him and received the money for his capture. Collins suppressed a shiver as he went for the oil lamp in the corner. He could barely see anything, despite the brightness of the full moon.

Something glinted in the darkness and he felt the icy steel tip of a sword press softly against the side of his throat.

"I wouldn't," the rough voice growled. Collins froze and suppressed his own growl. The fool had quite the stomach, to simply waltz into _his_ garrison—he was still its commanding officer.

"I shan't have any more of these affronts, Cullen," Collins spat. "You go too far—"

The sharp tip pressed further, and he saw the dangerous eyes of the outlaw dig into him. Collins stifled a shiver at the eerie presence in his sleeping chamber. He swallowed hard and kept perfectly still. "Tis very peculiar, my good major, that I should hear some bandits shooting at you from the tree-line earlier today—"

"Your own men, you mean," Collins snarled as a flash of anger glazed the icy blue eyes. "I did not think you should stoop so low, Cullen. But I do not know why I expected more from a coward who hides his face."

He saw the shadow of a smile on the outlaw's face. "Those were not my men, Collins. I do not know what hold Forster has on you, but maybe you should deal with your own subordinates before accusing mine?"

"Do you honestly expect me to believe your men were not shooting at me and Miss Swan?"

"I expect you to believe Forster's men were shooting at Miss Swan, to get you to submit to him," Cullen cut him off and Collins felt the tip of the sword shake slightly.

His eyes narrowed. "You will not even as much as breathe her name," he growled. "She has nothing to do with this!"

Cullen closed in, his good humor completely gone, replaced by a fearsome snarl upon his lips. "If you care about Miss Swan, you would do well in cutting ties with her—lest Forster goes after her."

Collins arched an eyebrow. "What designs do you have on her?" When Cullen kept his lips firmly shut, too slow to give him some witty remark, Collins in turn smirked. "Oh, but this is rich," he chuckled. "Do not tell me the great Cullen has an interest in Isabella Swan? Like from the tales of old?"

"You seem more amused by your false claims then the safety of a young woman. I heard she almost lost her life today, yet the thought does not appear that alarming to you—"

"That girl means more to me than you could ever begin to understand!"

"Good! Then you will see reason and cut ties with her, Major Collins. And if you are so inclined, maybe let me know what Forster holds over you so that I might—"

"I will _not_ cut ties with her, and I will _not_ let you continue insinuating Forster is blackmailing me!"

"Then you allow me and the rest of Hayes to believe you are an accomplice of his in this deeply rooted corruption," the masked man growled, growing irritated with the major. "Truly, major, I did not think you would stoop so low."

For the first time, hatred was blatant in Collins' eyes—a violent rage that seeped into his orbs that echoed some suppressed madness. Cullen had struck a nerve, that much was evident.

"Guards!" Collins shouted. With such an action, he had effectively removed any chances the masked man might have of helping the major back on the path of redemption and once more do good for Hayes, as he had before.

The coals of his own eyes sparked with a vibrant fire of disgust. "You will find the garrison empty—out searching for who they think is me," he growled. "You have committed a mistake this night, Collins."

The major was sweating, overcome by his own emotions. He dared lean forward. Oh, if only he had his sword! He knew he could best Cullen! "I will remove that silly little mask from your face. No one insults my character!" He was about to leap forward but Cullen was faster, sidestepping him and dealing a hard hit at the back of his neck with the hilt of his sword. It knocked the major out effectively. He stared down at the lifeless man for a moment and wrinkled his nose.

"Pity," the rich voice whispered to himself.

* * *

Lucy kept eyeing her patrons as midnight gave way to the small hours of the morning. A great turmoil had erupted when almost the entirety of the garrison had rushed through the gates as they chased after a lone man seating a great black horse. She, together with all her customers had stared with their mouths open as they saw more than thirty men rush after who they presumed to be Cullen. A few hours had passed since and the garrison was still practically empty.

She pushed the graying strawberry-blonde locks away from her face, into their cap from which they had escaped. Her tavern died down from the commotion and soon only a handful of patrons were still awake downstairs. "This town will be the death of me," she muttered angrily as she served another drink.

"Go' any food, Lucy?" one of her regular customers asked.

The burly woman frowned at him. "Cook's sleepin' ya idiot. Ya'll have to wait till mornin'."

"Bu' I'm hungry, Lucy."

"It's one in the mornin', Tom! There ain't no food, lest ya wanna have stale bread."

The man named Tom leaned forward with a grin, revealing some missing teeth. "That'll do," he said.

Lucy sighed, her careful eyes surveying the interior of her tavern. She would have to close the bar and shoo most of them out if they didn't leave of their own accord. Most weren't spending more money and she had to rise with the sun in a few hours. She gave the patron some stale bread left over from dinner and had him pay.

The interior of the dining area was quiet, someone smoked in the corner while a group of men played cards. At the table under the stairs sat a small lonesome shadow she had not noted before. Lucy was about to inspect further who it was when the clopper of hooves alerted her that the soldiers were back in Hayes. She wrinkled her nose and muttered under her breath. She had a mind to lock her door, knowing Sgt. Thompson might make a visit in a moment. She had no mind to serve him this night.

Lucy was about to ask her patrons to leave, when the door burst open and Captain Forster, followed by two other soldiers, stepped in. He rarely visited her tavern, unless it was to inquire or get a glass of mead before retiring. Lucy had no choice but to serve the captain as refusing him would make him release his wrath over her. This night, however, he did not seem to be there to quench his thirst.

The impeccably dressed soldier walked in with a proud head, dragging in half of the snow and muck from the street. Lucy sighed irritated under her breath as she watched him dirtying her freshly cleaned tiled floor.

Forster held up a poster so that all could see. It was a vague sketch of a man whose face was obscured by a black cloth. The only visible parts of him where two charcoal eyes and a thin, rough-set mouth curled in a snarl. "This man," he started haughtily, in an icy voice. "Has this man passed by here?" he demanded.

Lucy arched an eyebrow. "My good captain, look about yerself. Half of the men here are drunkards, the other half are practically asleep already. Hayes could burn down and most of them wouldn't notice," she chastised. It felt good to off-hand insult him thusly.

Forster cleared his throat. "Then surely, you must have seen something," he stated. "Or have you been taking to the bottle too?"

Lucy scoffed. "I keep a clear head when I stand behind the bar, Captain Forster. And no, we do not keep outlaws harbored in the Goose," she said forcefully as if severely insulted by his presence in there.

"Well, Major Collins is in his chamber nursing a nasty blow. He says he was threatened by Cullen some half an hour ago and that he could not have gotten far as he did not take a horse."

If Lucy was surprised by Cullen having threatened Major Collins, she did not show it. "I cannot leave the front lest someone steal the liquor," she snapped. "I have not been to the back."

"Search the tavern," Forster exclaimed to his subordinates. "_All_ the rooms." His three soldiers rushed from behind him while Forster waltzed to the bar and leaned against it. "I shall require some mead," he said. "A soldier's work his hard."

Lucy poured a cup and refrained from insulting him. She wanted to exclaim for all to hear what she _really_ thought of him. The front of the tavern had gone completely still. The previous ease and comfortable silence as guests played cards or sat silently by their cups had subsided. Instead, there was a strange tension from the presence of the captain. He enjoyed their fear, letting his gaze wander as he saw all men refraining from making eye contact. This was true power, he felt, and he savored it like one would savor fine wine. Forster chuckled at his own grasp of the town and took a sip of the mead which they made from the fresh honey at St. Nicholas.

"Dreadful weather we are having," a quiet voice came from the back of the room, from the seat beneath the stairs. The figure speaking seemed a short fellow, bent forward. His voice was hollow, tired. Lucy's eyebrows reached her hairline as she beheld the events unfolding before her. Who on earth was stupid enough to try to make silly conversation with the captain?

Forster must have been thinking the same, for his face twisted into an irritated frown as he took another, larger gulp from his cup. "Mhmm, yes," he echoed, still waiting for his men to return. Their footsteps could be heard as they went from room to room, ransacking them in search for Cullen.

The rest of the guests sat frozen, thinking that if they didn't move, Forster would refrain from picking on them. Yet, many could not help but lend their ears and eyes to the strange conversation now taking place.

"I quite like this place," the voice from the small man said again, now more jovial, as if having gained further strength. "I have not tried much of the food here, however. Except for the stew." There was a pause, and many were sure that if they could have seen the man with the hollow voice, they might have caught him shaking his head. "I do not know what it is about this dish, but I cannot leave it alone. Oh, it's very good, very refreshing. Do you get my point, captain?" it asked once more.

Forster was now quite irritated by this strange man. "No," he muttered as he fully turned to the man in the shadows. "I do not quite get _your point_."

The man, many noted, spoke in a northern accent, quite thickly pronounced as he continued. "I suppose," he continued. "It is because I did not pay for it. You see, I was hungry, and snuck into the kitchens for a bite. And there it was, a whole cauldron filled to the brim with cold stew!"

"Hey!" Lucy shouted as she threw down her rag on the bar with an insulted expression breaking through the tension.

Forster put aside his own cup and tried to discern who this funny little man was that admitted to having just stolen some old and cold stew. "I do suppose," the voice continued, now dropping and growing fuller as the accent became hard to place. "Things might taste better when we take them as we wish?" Forster paled as he now recognized it. "At least, that is what I am trying to understand. But I can for the life of me not find any joy in eating this food when I have not justly paid for it." They all heard the impact of some metal coins hit the wood of the table.

"Step out into the light!" Forster demanded. "Now!" The other guests turned to the source of the voice and many gasped as the shadow rose to a height no one had expected. He stood utterly tall and threatening. The light of the wax candles caught the glint of his teeth as he grinned, and all shifted away from the piercing eyes as they flickered with fire.

"Lancers!" Forster shouted for his men.

The man sighed. "I am afraid that they will not be joining us, captain." He pushed the chair aside and walked with a sure step into the light. "You are long overdue a visit from me, it seems. I have grown curious to see how much you have learned since our last encounter. Clearly, a lot, since you seem to be boasting it to the four winds."

General Cullen, the ghost of Raven's Grove, stood in the light of wax candles with defiance in his stance. He rested the tip of a hilted sword on the tiled floor and regarded the captain with an undertone of amusement.

Lucy and her guests thought their eyes might pop out of their heads. Here was the man of which had been spoken and gossiped so much for the past half year. Despite all the descriptions they'd heard of him, seeing the real man was surreal. Truly, some in there believed they were in the presence of a specter. Some men made the sign of the cross and prayed that the devil by the stairs had not come for them. Indeed, he had not. He had come for someone else.

Forster unsheathed his sword. His pistol was still in the confinements of his saddlebag and he mentally swore under his breath at his own folly.

"This time, you die, Cullen!" he spat.

The masked man's head tilted to the side and had his mask not been in the way, they would have seen his brow frown with a confused amusement. "Poor and unoriginal choice of words, my dear captain," the rough rasp sounded. "Have you been brushing up on your villainous speech as well?" he chuckled.

Forster raged and shot forward. Those in the crossfire jumped away as the captain charged with murderous eyes for the man in black. Cullen awaited him patiently and side-stepped the lunge as soon as it reached him.

"I see you have yet to master your anger. It will not do to let your emotions run wild when fighting someone, captain." He deflected some blows as Forster lunged, fighting in an offense style like last time.

Lucy stared in defeat as the interior of her tavern was being taken down in shambles. Forster was throwing chairs and pushing tables left and right. Her guests pushed to the walls. Some feared for their lives, others could not believe their luck in witnessing Cullen in action. On the upper floor, some men peered down—Cullen's own men who had taken care of the three soldiers and now wished a peek at the action. Jacob was one of them and he could not help a small grin as he saw the flustered Forster fence like a novice with the more experienced opponent.

Again, Forster lunged. "Your coupé has been refined, captain!" Cullen encouraged as he let out a devilish laugh. "Has Collins not taught you more?" He parried the attacks easily, for he was already familiar with the captain's fighting style. Forster tried to get his anger in check, but whenever he thought he had it controlled, Cullen delivered some insult his way and the ire blossomed up once more.

Finally, Forster was disarmed swiftly, and Cullen pinned him down to a table. He jabbed a knife left over from dinner into Forster's right cuff and pressed down on the right arm with his hand. The tip of his sword was right before Forster's nose. The playfulness in Cullen had completely gone away and the captain of the Royal Guard was forced to stare up at the eyes of a demon as he peered down on him. For the first time, Forster grew truly frightened of the masked man. Never up until this point had he feared for his life. He could not read anything except the harsh line in Cullen's lips or the squinted eyes.

"Let it be the first and last time you and your soldiers ever impersonate me or use my name, Forster," he growled like a wild animal, ready to strike. Forster's heart skipped a beat and, despite his bests efforts to control his bladder, it would not hold, and he felt his breeches grow wet as he released his urine. The tip of the blade pressed into his forehead and Forster hissed. He felt the steel drag across his skin, slicing into it until he could sense the sickening smell of blood and feel its wetness drip along his temples.

"This time I mark you, captain. Next time, I'll kill you," the dark voice whispered into his ear. It was such an action that made it clear to Forster that this was no trickster, but a dangerous man that meant every word which he spoke. He much preferred Cullen when he was playing jokes on him or insulting him.

Cullen let go of Forster's arm and delivered a harsh blow into the center of his face. His nose started bleeding immediately and the force of the blow knocked the captain out cold. Cullen straightened up and looked about the room, taking in the terrified faces and the destroyed furniture his little fight had caused. Lucy grew more ashen when the ominous eyes redirected their attention on her. She was a large lady and had always been accustomed to some amount of respect from her patrons. One look was all it took from her part to silence any scuffle. However, with this man, she did not dare as much as utter a sound lest he pounce on her as well.

The heavy echo of his boots hitting the tiles was all that filled the tension of the room. One of the brass chandeliers had been knocked during the fight and it still swung slowly, casting strange shadows about the room. The outlaw came to stand before her in all his glory and all Lucy could do was look up at him.

He reached into his sash and retrieved a small and robust coin purse, casting it atop the bar with a small and charming smile. The threatening presence that had almost killed Forster before was all but gone, but the aftermath of their scuffle could still be seen behind him. It made for a nerve-racking and confusing sight.

"For the damages," he told her with a gentle bow of his head. His smile was genuine, and Lucy shook her head slowly in a hesitant nod. She dared not speak. The masked man was about to leave, sheathing the sword when he abruptly turned to her and spoke again.

"As for the stew," he told her. "I truly meant what I said. My compliments to your cook," he smiled. The chandelier kept swinging, though it slowed down its pace.

The ghost of Cullen gave a small and pleasant nod to the patrons of The Laughing Goose, as if all was normal, and went to the backdoor. As soon as it closed, the inside of the tavern was kept quiet for a while. They all had yet to take in what had just transpired. Lucy took the small purse with shaking fingers and saw that Forster's cup of mead was still on the counter. In one swig she emptied it, for once breaking her rule against drinking while behind the bar.

She took in the damages and gave off a shaken and irritated sigh. "This town will be the bloody death of me," she spat and went to get her rags to clean up.

* * *

**A/N: FYI, last part of this chapter was my favorite to write! :D**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	20. Chapter 20

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 20_

For the first time in a while, the sun broke through the thick layer of clouds that had been pestering Cadherra for the past month. February was known to be cold, yet Bella was happy that the worst of the winter months was reaching its end. March would surely be gray and dreary, but she could sense spring around the corner.

She woke up with her shoulder still sore. Sara had been brought over from her house to tend to her, to make the young Swan girl more comfortable in a house of strangers. The morning after her accident, her parents had showered her with love, afraid that they had almost lost their daughter. Renée had stayed with Bella until it was time for lunch, brought in by Sara. After, Alice had stepped in, looking about ready to burst at the seams. Bella had requested to sit on the sofa, having grown tired of her bed. She was in a more modest nightgown, with a robe in pale blue thrown over it for receiving whoever so wished to visit her.

"You will not _believe_ what happened this night at Lucy's!" Alice exclaimed, quite taken. Steps could be heard behind her.

"Is she decent?" the thin drawl inquired, and Bella knew instantly who it was.

"Yes, yes! Make haste, brother, for I wish to share this news as quickly as possible."

Edward stepped through the tall, white doors and regarded Bella seating the couch with an arched eyebrow. As always, his nose was slightly pointing upward and there was a tiresome air to him. "I do not know what you call decent, sister dear, but the girl is barely dressed," he remarked with an air of disapproval.

"I would like to see you try to get into some stays after having dislocated your shoulder, Mr. Masen," she retorted, blushing at his insult.

His lips tugged downward and she could hear him sigh as he sat down in one of the nearby fauteuils, next to his sister. "Touché, madam," he sighed further. Oh, how she detested that nasal voice. Why had Alice brought him when she knew what she thought of him? But then Bella remembered how she had requested to speak with Edward once her health had improved.

"I must thank you, Mr. Masen, for your level head and gallant actions that brought me safely and quickly to this house," she said to him with a nod of her head.

"Oh, think nothing of it, dear girl," he told her with a satisfied smirk. He straightened the customary hunch slightly. "But I must say, you do weigh more than you look. I thought I had taken my back out by placing you in that sleigh."

Bella bit back a sharp remark. "Indeed, riding habits can be quite heavy, at times." She had no strength to banter with him. "Nonetheless, I am in your debt, Mr. Masen." Bella turned to Alice. "As I am to all of you, for this wonderful hospitality you have shown me."

Alice leaned forward and took Bella's hands in her own. "We are only glad that you are recovering so quickly. Now," she said with glittering eyes. "This past night at Lucy's such a strange thing happened that we have been getting news from different sources the entire morning!"

Edward blotted his nose with a sigh. "Quite tiresome having your door accosted every ten minutes, indeed."

"Well, what happened?" Bella inquired. She straightened on the couch and bit back a small hiss as she put too much strain in her left shoulder.

Alice clasped her hands together. "Last night, Cullen broke into the garrison, knocked Collins out cold. Then he had a huge scuffle with Captain Forster in The Laughing Goose whereby he obviously bested the man in swords and marked his forehead!" Alice grew red as she held back some amount of laughter. "Tis rumored that the captain…had a small accident in his breeches!"

Alice had expected the young Miss Swan's surprised reaction—which was sitting in complete bewilderment with a stunned expression. While Alice was giddy, Edward did not much seem to care.

"I told you, Alice dear, that she would not find this news as amusing as you," he drawled. The statement caused Alice to frown.

"Surely, you find some interest in it, Bella?"

Bella looked away, not knowing how she was supposed to react. "Is he a madman?" she whispered to herself.

"Surely, completely mad," Masen agreed.

"Why on earth would he knock out poor Major Collins in such a manner?" She could not believe what she was hearing. "And challenging Captain Forster in The Laughing Goose?" Suddenly she realized where it had taken place and darted up from the couch. "Oh, but I must see Lucy, see if she is unharmed in all of this!" Alas, as soon as she stood up, Bella grew dizzy from the quick motion and stumbled. It was only by Edward Masen's quick reaction that she did not fall. He took care in not touching her left shoulder too much and helped her to sit down once more.

"You will go nowhere, Bella, until you are better," Alice argued.

"We shall have to bother Dr. Blake in coming here once more," Edward sighed. He looked as if the action of catching her and placing her back on the couch had quite tired him. Bella's mind was elsewhere. Had anyone been hurt except Forster?

"But…_why_ did he challenge Forster so publicly?" she asked.

"That would have been my question as well, were it not for the fact that the patrons of the tavern heard every word of their conversation. Apparently, Cullen warned Forster about impersonating him and those who have fled to Raven's Grove to join his cause. This means that the men who shot at you and Collins were, in fact, not the runaways but Forster's own men! At least according to Cullen," said Alice.

"Is that…true?"

"Hayes doesn't care, the only thing they rejoice in now is that Forster is marked for life, his pride has been wounded. Dr. Blake was called to the garrison to treat the slashes he received on the forehead," Alice stated, rather more severe than before.

Bella looked at Edward, waiting to see his reaction. The man who had carried her to the sleigh was all but gone, never to be seen again. She must have imagined that voice in him. He was the same white-powdered and rouged peacock as always.

Another knock sounded on her door and before they could answer, Joseph stepped in. "Sir, ladies," he bowed. "Miss Swan," he said, directing himself to Bella. "Major Collins has come to call on you. Lord Masen is at present not in the house," the servant said, now turning to Edward. "Shall I let him in?"

Bella had heard that Carlisle Masen wanted nothing to do with Collins. Thus, placing Edward in such an awkward position as to invite the major to enter was of bad taste. But she so dearly wished to see him. She looked at Edward and decided that he should be the one to decide. "Tis your father's house and I know the disregard he now holds for the major, Mr. Masen. I shall not be hurt if you have him dismissed," she whispered. "But then let me at least write him a note, for I am not at all cross with him." Bella would ignore that Collins had been struck down by Cullen. She still believed, or rather, _wanted_ to believe that Collins was a good man, for he showed it every time he was with her.

Edward regarded her for a while, the dull emerald orbs surveying her pale face. "Do you feel well enough to have him in here?" he asked.

"I do, Mr. Masen."

He inclined his head. "Then I shan't be in the way," he told her with a bow. "Joseph, send the man in but keep a lookout. If my father's carriage arrives, you will let us, and Major Collins know so that he may sneak out the back way."

Bella did not know what to say. "I…I thank you deeply, Mr. Masen," she said. Joseph bowed and it was soon that Collins was brought into the room.

As always, he was impeccably dressed. He disregarded the scrutiny of Alice, or the silent and snobbish contemplation of Masen as he stepped inside.

"My good major!" Edward uttered as he stepped up. "I hear you've had a terrible night." His voice was more nasal than usual and the drawl more pronounced.

Collins ignored the dandy for once, only having eyes for Bella. He found her a pitiful sight, so small and pale seated next to Alice on the blue couch. She was only dressed in her nightgown with a blue robe thrown over, her long chestnut curls were out of their usual pins. While she looked a sickly creature due to her fall, she was strangely alluring—like a woodland fairy that drew him in with two big chocolate brown orbs.

"Major!" she exclaimed with genuine joy. Collins knew then, that despite the scrutiny he received from the rest, he wouldn't be cast aside by Miss Swan. She was too good for that. He walked over to her, regarding the arm in the sling and frowned painfully. This could have been avoided, had he not taken her outside the town.

"Miss, after watching you take that horrible fall, it gladdens me to see you up and about already," he said to her. Neither Alice nor Edward seemed to make a move to leave the couple alone, Collins could not help but find their presence annoying.

"Indeed, but after the rumors that Forster sent his own men attacking you, should you not be dealing with him?" Alice inquired with a curious expression. He was surprised, she was usually so kind and gentle with him. Now she seemed protective of the young woman.

"Only rumors, I assure you. Captain Forster would never do such a thing—"

"Why, of course not!" Edward agreed. "That man is the epitome of goodwill and honor, is he not?" Edward added with a smirk. Collins could sense the underlying insult.

"Stop teasing the major. Please, will you not sit down?" Bella asked, growing increasingly uncomfortable being caught in the middle of the banter.

Collins gave her an uncomfortable smile and bowed once more. "I only came to see to your wellbeing, Miss Swan. It is evident I am not wanted here and shan't stay much longer." Alice and Edward did not seem ashamed at having inconvenienced the major and surrounded Bella further, protecting her from association with him.

"Oh," Bella managed, quite disappointed. "But I shall see you when I am better, yes?" she asked him as her face lit up.

"That you shall, madam," he promised. Joseph had been standing close by the room, waiting to walk the major out. It was soon that Collins once more left the Masen house.

He had left as quickly as he'd come. Bella stared after the tall form with a frown touching her features. As soon as they heard the clatter of his horse's hooves, she spoke.

"That was very unkind to the major," she told the siblings.

"Bella, you should rethink your connection with Collins," Alice said.

"He has not done anything wrong, Alice—"

"You will come to realize that he has changed soon. We are simply warning you to his…to him… I do not want to see you broken up about him," Alice admitted.

"The man would have been shunned for less in Safeira," Edward drawled. "I am surprised he is still showing his face here."

"But what can he have done that is so bad?"

"Edward, tell her all the things you told me!" Alice begged.

"I am not one for gossip," the young man drawled, the statement causing Bella to arch an eyebrow. "But he has been siding with Forster for the last few months in matters concerning imprisonments, even corporal punishment," Edward said. "But I think the worst of it was when he agreed with the captain about an execution of one of the farmers' sons. I believe it was a Mr. and Mrs. Leigh who have lost their youngest son to the noose."

"What…was his offense?" Bella whispered, terrified that Collins was even involved in such an affair.

"Lashing out at one of the soldiers of the Royal Guard and wounding him in a heated argument," Edward answered.

"But that cannot be. There must be some underlying reason or more to it," Bella tried. "I refuse to believe that Major Collins would simply turn around and work with Forster," she tried.

"My dear," Alice sighed. "You have a kind heart in trying to see the best in people. But I believe Collins has abandoned Hayes, whatever the reason may be."

Perhaps it was the strain from having spent so much time out of bed so quickly, perhaps with was general fatigue, but Bella grew quiverish with the thought that she would have to abandon Collins. It was visible as plain daylight in the way she furrowed her brow. She was deeply saddened by the words she heard and, unbeknownst to her, her sorrow touched at the heartstrings of both siblings.

"I should like to retire, please," she asked them. "You can tell me more about the scuffle at the Goose at a later time, but now I am grown fatigued and need to rest."

"Of course," Alice agreed.

Bella was about to stand up but felt her limbs disagree with her. She grew flustered and embarrassed at being so frail for it was highly unlike her. To her and Alice's utter astonishment, Edward bowed before her.

"May I?" he asked as he extended an arm. She looked up at him, into the emerald orbs and found herself as lost in his eyes as he was in hers.

"You may, Mr. Masen," she whispered tiredly. Bella thought he was to simply escort her to her bedside, but he did more than that. As soon as she had given her consent, he bowed down and carried her into his embrace, taking great care in not hurting her left shoulder.

"M-Mr. Masen!" she blushed.

"Dear girl, I will not have you stumble and dislocate your other arm, for having knowledge of your clumsiness and lack of grace, such a feat would not be impossible," he drawled. As he carried her against his chest, the drawl could still be felt as a slight rumble when he spoke.

"Am I not too heavy?" she asked with a teasing smile. He stood by her bedside and turned his head to look at her. Edward was still to lower her into the soft cushion of the bed, but something stopped him.

"Very," he teased back and the small tug of his lips had her, in turn, look down to get away from his eyes. She wondered if he could feel her heart beat madly and rapidly. Bella chastised herself from such a reaction.

"Well, then put her down, Edward!" Alice urged.

He placed her down with great care and it was soon that Edward Masen left both ladies. As soon as the door was shut, Alice turned to her friend with crossed arms. "I will not say anything Bella, but I'd like for you to compare this moment with my brother and the time you spend with Collins and see if you do not find a difference in them."

Bella furrowed her brow. "What do you mean by it?"

The black-haired young woman tilted her head to the side. "Oh, in everything else you are so perceptible. But not when it comes to your own emotions! I shall let you discover this one by yourself, Miss Swan," she told her as she went for the door. "Now you rest. Dr. Blake will come this evening to check up on you."

Bella placed her head back in the pillows and looked up at the elegant canopy, its rich details, and flowing fabric. Edward Masen's treatment of her made her confused. In one moment, he was dismissive of her, yet there would be small instances where another part stepped forth, a part she suspected he did not show to much of the world. Bella then wondered if that hidden man was the real Edward Masen, hiding behind a façade. She let out a slight sigh and felt her eyelids droop heavily, giving in to her fatigue and falling asleep.

* * *

After having spent a full week at the Masen's townhouse, Bella Swan was fit enough to travel to her own home. A full fortnight later, well into the first week of March, her arm was let out of its sling. It was not sore unless she moved it around too much. She was given a strict regimen of daily exercises so that her arm and shoulder might regain their previous agility.

The snows had started melting, albeit the skies were still a steely gray and the clouds did not seem to disperse anytime soon. Bella grew rather dismayed when she found that she had grown frightened of getting into the saddle and made up excuses for not mounting April. Collins came a few times to call on her, and she disregarded the words from both Edward and Alice, but always had them nagging at the back of her mind. Collins' courtship of her seemed to grow serious and many were expecting a proposal from his behalf at any given moment.

There was another thing that Bella had not dealt with, which was speaking with Cullen about what Miss Haste had told her. She thought she had the answer now that she had managed to read between the lines. Alas, her shoulder had not allowed her to leave her home and he had not come to visit. Not that he _should_ visit.

It was a rainy day when she stood in the muddy center of her family's stables, looking at the saddle of her white mare. Robert held the reins and waited for the young woman to near.

"I think I shall head back in, Robert, tis a frightful day with too much rain for my taste," she mumbled and started heading back.

"That has never stopped you before, miss," the stablemaster said abruptly. She stopped with her back turned to him. He could see the tension in her squared shoulders. "The best thing after having been thrown from one's horse is to get back up into the saddle as soon as possible. The longer you postpone it, the worse it'll get, Miss Swan."

"I am not afraid!" she snapped despite herself.

He neared her with the horse trailing gently behind. "I know you aren't, miss. You're the bravest young lady within fifty miles of here, I should think. I am just telling you how it usually is. April misses you, she longs for you to be back in her saddle. See, even now she reaches for you."

The horse was nosing around, stretching its neck to reach Bella. The young woman turned around with angry tears threatening to fall. She was afraid to ride, to be cast out of her saddle once more. But she knew that what Robert said was true. And she needed a horse to ride to St. Nicholas. Walking there in the mud would wreak havoc on her riding habit and she'd have to throw away her new riding boots after one use.

She stretched her hand forward and caressed April. "The horse was scared, miss, and what horse wouldn't be by such loud shots? But I have ridden her every day, she will not spook so again," Robert promised her.

"I suppose a quick ride will not hurt," she whispered.

"I will help you into the saddle, miss," he smiled. He stepped next to her and helped her sit, astride as she was used to. Bella shook as she took the reins. But she recognized the familiarity of April, and her mare stood calmly with her mistress in the saddle.

"I am riding to St. Nicholas, should my parents ask," Bella mumbled.

"Is it wise to ride outside of Hayes after…you know," the robust man asked. Bella looked to the horizon, where she could spot the white bell tower of the church. Cadherra was a gray and brown muddy mess with patches of snow here and there. But amidst the mush of lifeless colors, one could spot the faint emergence of spring. The buds on the naked tree-branches had started growing, and within a few weeks, they would burst, bringing back the emerald color to Cadherra. Bella was certain that as soon as the rains stopped, the meadows would once more turn green as well and be dotted with flowers.

"I will take it slow, and I must go there to…to speak with Friar Blackwood," she told him. "I shan't be long."

"If you will so miss, but at least let me accompany you. It is your first time in the saddle in almost a month."

Bella glanced at the end of the stables and saw that Robert already had a horse saddled. She couldn't help but chuckle. "You meant to come with me the whole time, didn't you?"

He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck.

"I suppose I do not have much say in the matter," Bella sighed. "Let us be off then, my good Robert, before the sun sets." It was six in the evening, closing in on twilight by the minute. Bella had chosen such a time to ride to the church because she knew fewer people would be in it or out in the fields by then, giving Jacob a fair chance to come from Raven's Grove.

They took their horses and reached the church in a matter of ten minutes.

Amidst the mush of a waning winter, which was gray, muddy and disgusting to her, St. Nicholas stood out to the naked eye like an oasis in the desert. The whitewashed church managed to look inviting at all moments of the year and now was no different. They tethered their horses to the long pole in front of the main entrance and she asked Robert to wait for her by the opening while she ventured inside. Bella removed her riding hat and pushed aside the heavy gray cloak she'd been wearing, splatters of mud covering part of the front and sides. She wiped down her cheeks and forehead as some mud had splattered across her face as they had cantered there.

The inside of the church echoed with her decisive steps. It was colder inside than outside, as always. She beheld the muted colors of the interior by candlelight as the sunlight was powerless in illuminating much due to the thick clouds that blocked out its rays. It had already started getting darker by the time they arrived, and Bella saw that the church was all but empty.

"Well met, Miss Swan," a kind and gentle voice told her by the altar. Bella jumped, surprised as she had not seen anyone there. Suddenly Friar Blackwood's small form neared her. He was a short and bony man with kind features and a nose that was too big for his face. His white hair was cut close to his scalp and he bore the usual brown robes. In one hand he held a rosary. The black orbs sparkled with further kindness as he took in the sight of the woman he had baptized more than twenty years ago.

"You seem better, and your shoulder appears healed, thank the Lord," he smiled.

"Indeed, father. I am much better," she smiled back. Her eyes darted to the confessional box. It was Friar Nathan which she knew Jacob had spoken to about ringing the bells to call for him. "Do you know where Friar Nathan is?" she asked.

"In town getting us some provisions from Dr. Blake. Friar Marcus has a terrible cold, and I fear none of his house remedies have worked thus far. However, his overall health has improved ever since arriving here. I think Cadherra agrees with him," Blackwood blinked. "I believe Nathan was all but tired of his complaints and offered to go to Hayes himself and get better medicine."

"Ah, I see," Bella nodded. "Well, I do hope Friar Marcus feels better soon. I am sure he will, for spring is soon to take root and soon we shall hopefully see more the sun."

"The warmth of summer always comes, which is what gets us through the darkness of winter," the friar blinked enigmatically. Bella had the feeling that he was referring to something more than simple weather.

"Indeed," she trailed off. "Father, I do not know if Friar Nathan has told you about the confessions I…usually have with a friend of mine—"

Blackwood put up a hand. "I shall ring the bell, Miss Swan, and make sure the transept is vacant for when you meet young Mr. Black," he assured her.

Bella was grateful for his discretion and understanding. "I thank you, father," she inclined her head.

She stepped away, walking away from the altar and almost bumping into someone.

"Forgive me!" Bella mumbled as she looked up only to be met by a flustered Jessica Stanley.

"No harm done," Jessica mumbled back, recollecting herself.

It was a rare sight catching Jessica in a place like St. Nicholas outside of mass and at such an hour. Bella arched an eyebrow. "Did you also come here for confession with the friar?" she asked.

"I just had mine, with Friar Marcus," she nodded.

Odd, Bella thought. Hadn't Marcus come down with a cold? If such was the case, he would not be accepting visitors or holding confession. Either Blackwood had lied to Bella, or Jessica had. But lying friars or young women were, at present, the least of her problems.

"I hope you find peace," Bella said.

"What?" Jessica blurted out.

"From the sins you confessed," she added. Jessica was more than shaken. Indeed, it was true she hid something from her.

"Oh, thank you, Miss Swan." She gathered her skirts. "Excuse me, I do believe I must return."

The echo of her heels sounded loudly in the otherwise calm interior of the church as Jessica Stanley disappeared. There was definitely more to that girl than Bella had previously thought.

She sighed and then went into the box. Her meeting with Jacob was a bizarre occurrence and she hoped it wouldn't be necessary for the future. The young woman longed to speak with him out in the open, without fearing Forster's wrath.

She heard the bells toll three times and waited in the darkness with anticipation. Bella counted the minutes, supposing it had to take Jacob twenty to thirty minutes to get out of the Grove after having heard the bells. She stared at the latticed opening, into the darker compartment on the other side, waiting anxiously. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon and when forty minutes had passed, she thought he would not come. Bella gave a sigh of defeat and started rising when she heard soft footsteps echo and the latch to the other compartment rattle.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she realized Jacob had arrived. They had not spoken for months and she was overjoyed that she would get the chance to see him again.

"Jacob, you took a long time to get here!" she exclaimed in a rattled whisper as she squinted her eyes while trying to discern him on the other side of the wooden lattice. He wore a monk's robes with the hood over his face.

"Collins sends patrols to the outskirts of Raven's Grove more frequently. I must take care in not being seen coming here," he responded in a subdued tone. She could see the flash of his teeth as he smiled, pushing down the hood. "I am glad to see you are fully healed, Bella. We…heard of what happened to you," he told her. "I hope you know neither Cullen nor anyone else of us would ever do such a thing against you," he urged.

"Jacob, of course not!" she blurted out. "I would never have blamed you or your friends for this," she said. "It simply worries me that someone would be shooting at the major in such a way," she lamented. Jacob pressed his lips together. He would not reveal to her the suspicions he held that she might have been a target as well.

"Maybe we might soon put a stop to all of this if we could simply remove Captain Forster from Hayes and make our voices heard."

"Do you believe you could return to Hayes if Forster was shown for what he truly is?" she asked with a sheepish look on her features.

"We haven't broken any laws—"

"What was that about in Lucy's tavern, then?" she asked, arching a condescending eyebrow, yet he could not miss the amused undertone she held in her voice.

"Just some good fun, Miss Swan," he smirked back. "I believe Captain Forster needed to be taught a lesson."

"While I do regret the state The Laughing Goose must have been in after such an encounter, I cannot deny that I would have been glad to see him bested," she admitted. Then, Bella grew decidedly more serious. "But what Cullen did with Major Collins I cannot approve of. You all have decided he is lacking of character and I believe we are not aware of all the circumstances—"

"I will not banter with you on this matter, Bella. Let time pass. Maybe Collins will once more stand up against Forster. Maybe he will not. As for myself, I have grown decidedly disappointed with Collins…especially after what happened with Mr. and Mrs. Leigh's youngest."

They sat in an estranged silence; as if they had not spoken for several years. Bella grew uncomfortable with so many people telling her what she was supposed to do. So far, Collins had not shown any change in character when they had met, and she refused to change her perception of him based solely on other people's opinion and common gossip.

"The words," she spoke, taking charge in breaking the awkward tension that had emerged between them. "I believe I know their meaning after much contemplation. Even further so when I took into account that Mr. Ridge was indeed referring to Miss Haste in his suicide note. And I believe I was not the only one to come to this conclusion. Whoever else did must have been the one to murder her."

"Yet Cullen said that there was nothing in Miss Haste's quarters when he looked, and nothing either in the treasury, in Forster's or even Collins' offices or chambers."

Bella peered through the latticed opening, meeting Jacob's black eyes as they silently regarded her. The church was still silent, she could hear Robert's pacing every so often or Friar Blackwood flip through some pages of a book further back in his study that was close by the altar.

"Miss Haste was most likely aware of her predicament, which is why she told me those words. I believe, that whatever information Mr. Ridge had gathered on Forster, must have been hidden, either by him or by her. Two birds and a saint, I believe, refer to locations here in Hayes."

It was very vague until she had figured it out, and then Bella had been certain. Never so certain of anything in her life.

"Saint…" she could hear Jacob ponder. "Could it be here? As in St. Nicholas?" When he saw her smile, he was suddenly filled with an extended giddiness.

"Indeed."

"But, Bella, if you have realized what these things mean, why have you not gone to search in these places by yourself?" he asked her.

"Until today I was not able to ride outside of my house," she said. "I could not come here and look. As for the other places…it is complicated, to say the least. I might not be able to retrieve Ridge's evidence from them. In the meantime, shall we go and see what Mr. Ridge left behind for us?" she asked.

"Here and now?"

"I believe Lucas was well acquainted with Friar Blackwood, he must have handed him something," Bella nodded.

"Well, then you seek out the good friar, I shall wait." They both knew it was better for Jacob to stay behind, especially if Robert happened to walk down the nave and pass the transept. While Bella knew Robert to be a good man, it was better to have as few people as possible in their circle.

She tilted her head to the side. "Or maybe you fear Friar Blackwood because he'd bring you into this confessional himself and try to make an honest man out of you," she teased which caused a chuckle to emerge from Jacob.

"He'd probably succeed, with Friar Nathan standing behind, threatening to level me to the ground if I didn't do as the good Blackwood asked."

She gave a sound of agreement and then went out of the confessional and left Jacob to continue to chuckle at her remark.

On the right side of the altar was a door leading to Friar Blackwood's office. The old man had retired and sat behind his neat desk, a pair of spectacles sliding down the large nose and his white head of hair bent down. He looked over the spectacles and every so often would wrinkle his nose as he turned the page of the bible which he studied. The knock on his door did not make him look up, merely utter a simple "Come in."

Bella shut the door slowly behind herself and the only sound present in that room was the old clock in the corner, her swishing skirts and the roaring fire in the small chimney. The terracotta tiles appeared to have just been cleaned and on the whitewashed wall behind Blackwood was a small painting dating back to at least the past century. It was a very classical scene of the Virgin Mary with her son.

"I suspect you are done confessing?"

Bella slowed down her step, her hands clasped before her with her face looking at him from a sideways angle.

Blackwood smirked from beneath the spectacles and proceeded to close the bible and remove them.

"Not quite, father," she said.

"Is there something I might be of assistance with?" he asked, leaning forward as he braided his long and gnarly fingers together.

Bella stood before the robust wooden desk and smoothed out the front of her skirts. "Yes. Mr. Ridge left something in your possession before his…untimely passing," she said. She knew Blackwood was a man of few words and usually direct and to the point. She had, however, expected more of a resistance. For, indeed, the old friar nodded, unclasped his entwined fingers and stood up. He walked back to the portrait and made a sign of the cross. He looked fondly at the mother Mary before moving the painting aside. Behind it, was a small grove containing some of the church's riches, and a small stack of neatly folded papers. On the top of the stack was a thick envelope with a red wax seal. Blackwood picked up the letter and turned around to hand it to Bella.

"The seal has not been broken, and I have not read whatever is in that envelope, as Mr. Ridge requested of me."

She felt the immense weight of it in her hands and stared at it in disbelief.

"You…you have had it this whole time in your possession?" she asked.

The old friar gave her a friendly little smile that tugged at his lips, proceeding to demonstrate the pronounced crow's feet by his eyes. "Of course," he stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"And you did not open it after Lucas passed?"

Friar Blackwood sighed, realizing the young woman would not be satisfied until she had asked him every pertinent question. "Come, Miss Swan, come sit with me," he said as he showed her to the desk. He took a chair lining the wall and placed it before the wooden table, sitting behind it as soon as the young lady sat down.

He sat in silence, regarding her as if contemplating her character with utmost scrutiny. Friar Blackwood had known Bella Swan for the entirety of her life—indeed he had been the one to baptize her. He knew her character and knew she was to be trusted.

"I am, as you well know after all these years, not a curious sort of man, Miss Swan. I do not find fault in those with a curious nature, but my own wants and needs have always been satisfied with a silent and dignified contemplation of the holy scriptures. I find peace in God and the nature he has bestowed upon us. I enjoy the quiet life I lead here. Thus, when Lucas Ridge came to me and had me swear on this very Bible before us not to give this envelope away to anyone but you, Lord Masen or Miss Haste, I did so. I swore to never open it and to hide it until one of you found your way here. I suspect what it might be tied to, indeed I most certainly do." His brow creased as he shook his head slowly, side to side, the beady eyes glossy for a moment. "When the unfortunate events of Miss Haste's death were made known to me, I almost had a mind to burn it, for fear of what it might contain. But I did not."

She swallowed in a forceful manner, hating how loud it was in her ears. She had not ignored his mention of Carlisle Masen, yet she did not interrupt him. Bella cast her eyes about the room in an attempt to avoid the sad eyes of the friar after having been reminded of Miss Haste and Mr. Ridge.

"Why did you not seek me, Lord Masen or Miss Haste out?" she asked.

"Because Mr. Ridge could not know that either of you would ever come for it."

"But then that envelope would have never been opened, its contents would practically have been lost."

"Yet, here you are, Miss Swan. They say God works in mysterious ways. He willed you to be here."

She stared at the envelope once more. The paper was luxurious, thick, bleached. She could not see through it, nor discern what type of contents it might hold.

"Did Mr. Ridge tell you to reveal his relations with Miss Haste and Lord Masen to me?" she asked.

The friar arched an eyebrow. "I will not inquire what you are involved in, but both Mr. Ridge and Miss Haste are no longer with us. I have to stare at their graves just outside the cemetery as they are not allowed to rest in holy ground. I believe as it looks right now, that your only remaining ally might be Lord Masen. Indeed so, if Mr. Ridge chose to trust in him."

Bella smiled but fought hard not to show her true emotions. How much was Lord Masen a part of this? She did not truly know what role he played or if he could be trusted to be brought into her confidence with Jacob and Cullen. But it did answer another big enigma she had been pondering ever since figuring out the three locations given to her by Maria Haste.

"I suspect you might wish to return to the confessional and finish your conversation before the hour grows too late and Robert starts asking for you again."

Robert! She had completely forgotten about him! He had spoken with Blackwood. What would that mean? She got up with a sheepish look about her and held the envelope closely to her chest. "I thank you for your time, father," she said with a nod of her head.

He settled back in his chair and returned the nod. She was by the door, about to open it, when he spoke once more. "Do tell Mr. Black to return those robes once he is finished speaking with you," the friar asked in a pleasant manner. "And tell him that next time he may come as he is, this is the house of the Lord and he accepts all his children, no matter how they dress."

Bella grew even more flustered. "I will let him know, father!" she mumbled before hastily closing the door behind her, hearing the faint and wholehearted chuckle stemming from the office. Bella rushed once more to the confessional and discerned that it was still occupied by Jacob.

She knocked on the door and he stepped out. She showed him the envelope.

Jacob looked about ready to scratch the back of his head. "You found this hidden in Friar Blackwood's office?"

"Oh no, he had it in his keeping."

"You mean to tell me that he has had this the entire time?"

"Indeed, and with clear instructions to hand it over to me once I came _asking_ for it. Even beyond the grave, Lucas Ridge manages to ruffle my feathers," she mumbled to herself.

"Maybe this will be easier than what we supposed?"

"I believe not, Jacob. The other two clues: two birds refer to two names, I believe. Two places with strong ties to Ridge. One is my own, Swan. The other is Goose as in The Laughing Goose. Those are the only two places in Hayes that have names that allude to birds in them."

"Mr. Ridge placed critical information in your own house?" Jacob blurted out. From under his hood, she could see him grow alarmed.

"At first I thought so. But he never came to us, nor was there ever a letter or parcel from him, Miss Haste or someone anonymous. I must, therefore, conclude that, right before his passing and without telling Miss Haste, he decided to change the location of this information."

"Maybe he had no wish to put you in harm's way once he realized how dangerous this situation truly is," Jacob pondered.

"I think so as well." Her throat closed up when thinking how much Lucas Ridge must have gone through during the last few days of his life. "And I thought we had lost that piece of information forever, until just now when I spoke with Friar Blackwood," she said. "He…mentioned Lord Masen…who I believe is entwined in this in some form or other. It might very well be possible that Mr. Ridge decided to confide in Carlisle Masen and hand over such information to him."

"Then it is in Lord Masen's house?" he asked utterly bewildered.

"I believe so. And I do not yet know how I can obtain such information," she sighed. "I cannot very well sneak into his office and go through his desk and drawers."

"No, you cannot," Jacob agreed. "Bella, realize the danger of this situation. You do understand why both Cullen and I'd wish if you didn't get as involved now, don't you?" he implored with pleading eyes.

She did know. Her red lips pursed together, and she flared her nostrils, a feeling of resignation overtaking her. Bella was a fool if she kept pushing to be a part of it all and not expect some sort of consequence. She had not told Jacob, but she feared the attack outside of Hayes might have been made not just against Collins, but against her as well. It was, of course, not Cullen's rebels. And if it had been Forster's own soldiers and not some random bandits; that reinforced her fears even more.

She handed him the envelope. "I…I know," she mumbled.

Jacob stared at it for a long time, until taking it and securing it within the folds of his habit. "Tis for the best," he assured her.

"But not fair," she growled. "Not fair at all." She shook her head forcibly as her face twisted into an irritated expression. "But I do not wish to put my family or household through any further danger. If I were ever to be discovered with investigating either Ridge's or Haste's suicides…I fear to think what would happen to me," she said while she paled. Bella admitted that the thought scared her. "But I _would_ like to know where this all leads you," she begged.

"I will make sure you are not kept in the dark. You as much as Cullen and I have a right to be kept informed. We can still meet here and talk, update each other on what goes on in Raven's Grove and in Hayes," he promised. Then, he looked rather pensive. "And the last place Mr. Ridge went to was to Little Lucy?"

She nodded.

"Lucy will protect whatever he handed to her with her life. I do not think it is a question of asking her," Jacob said.

"Aye, but we must at least try." She now realized why Lucy had spoken to her so harshly regarding Mr. Ridge's death in her tavern all those months ago. She was warning Bella, as much as anyone. "I still do not know how to approach Lord Masen about this…"

"Well, Bella, try to speak with Lucy and let me worry about Lord Masen."

She squinted her eyes at him and tilted her head to the side. "I hope you do not mean to do some mischief," she chastised him.

His lips curled into a roguish smile and Bella shook her head in defeat. "_I_ will not," he laughed. "I suspect you shall soon hear another tale of Cullen's escapades."

"Heaven spare me," she said, rolling her eyes.

* * *

**A/N: Wooooo, done with my thesis! 50 pages of pure linguistics. I'm on a high right now :D Celebrating with posting yet another chapter! Thanks for the wonderful feedback on the last one, glad to see you also liked the last scene hehe.**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	21. Chapter 21

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 21_

"Here, make yourself comfortable, father," he said as he helped him sit down. Billy Black took in the surroundings of the cave. For almost one week he had been back in Raven's Grove, getting to know the rebels of the forest, their stories, their lives. He was the oldest, and, as was expected, many looked to him for a certain amount of wisdom, however strange Billy had found it to be.

When Jacob had sent word, asking if he wanted to rejoin him in Raven's Grove, Billy had obliged. He wished to return next to his son, to his family. Cadherra was his home, the province which he so loved.

While he had yet to regain complete dominion over the use of his legs, Billy could walk around well enough with a cane at a resolute pace. Resting in Sorossa had given him back his resolve and strength. He, much like the younger men in Cullen's company, wished to save Hayes from Forster. But while many of the men there were bloodthirsty, Billy Black was levelheaded, calm, took the consequences into consideration and had an apt mind to resolve a problem as well as he could.

Many of Cullen's men had gone up to the older Mr. Black and spoken with him. He was somewhat of a legend amongst them—the first to have met Cullen and to have been saved by him. Yet, Billy had little to comment on the matter. He could only express his approval for the man who had saved his life.

"Cullen will be glad to hear of your return, father," his son beamed. Jacob had told his father all about their investigations, about the strange deaths of Mr. Ridge and Miss Haste. "We must speak with him of what Miss Swan revealed to me in St. Nicholas."

"You must all be wary of who you pull into this matter. Involving Miss Swan is dangerous, my son," he whispered to Jacob.

Jacob wrung his hands as he pushed the burning embers of the fire, putting a fresh log into the flames. It was starting to get dark outside, but the days grew longer and the nights warmer as spring approached.

"She realizes it as well. Bella has decided to distance herself from this for the moment being, she fears for her family, but I think it is difficult for her. I can understand her, Ridge was a closer friend to her than anyone, and I believe she partly did all of this for him," he sighed.

He had not yet opened the envelope they had retrieved in St. Nicholas, feeling it was up to Cullen to read into its contents—for it was Cullen who had started it all. The same evening Jacob had returned from the conversation in the church, he had hoped for the masked man to be at camp, yet he was not. Days had passed by where Bella had not rung the bells of the church or Cullen had visited them.

"She is a determined young lady, if I ever saw one," Billy chuckled. "I believe she has you all trailing after her like obedient little dogs." His own remark caused another chuckle to erupt from some nearby men. They all sat around the big fire by the mouth of the cave. At the back of the large cave, some men were preparing the evening's supper. If the weather kept getting warmer, Jacob hoped they might place a small outpost further southwest, to keep a closer eye on Hayes.

"Not _all_ of us," Jacob muttered. He was certain Cullen was the only one who could handle Isabella Swan.

Billy tilted his head to the side. "Are you certain?" When his son remained silent, it caused a ghost of a smirk to curl on Billy's lips, but he did not ponder more on the subject.

Jacob pressed his lips together just as Jonah came up to them. "Benjamin and Timmy came back from the patrol. They say the tree-line is clear. The soldiers seem to be within the walls of Hayes today," he said.

The smiles washed away from Jonah and Jacob's faces. "That cannot be good news," Jacob muttered. "But we have not heard anything from Nathan, have we?"

"Nothing has reached them, at least not today. It is getting late. Maybe we will get some news from Hayes tomorrow. Who knows, we might get more men fleeing from Forster," Jonah sighed.

"If it continues in this fashion, Hayes will soon lose all her sons," Billy sighed. "It saddens me to see your generation suffer so, Jacob," he lamented. Around the fire came more men who settled down to listen to Billy Black speak. He nodded to them as the flickering flames cast grotesque shadows across his features. "It saddens me to see that a man like Forster has been allowed to get so far," he told them.

"Do you suppose, Mr. Black, that we will one day be able to return home?" one of the younger men by the fire asked him. "To our families?" Billy looked at him, at the face of youth and was brought back to his younger years, reminded of the bliss they'd held for him. They all hung onto whatever answer he was to give them.

Billy sighed, gripping his cane. Cullen was good at keeping morale up, that much he had noticed. But he too wondered what the masked man had planned after they supposedly took down Forster. He must surely know their small rebellion against authority might have consequences.

"We shall see," he smiled faintly. But it was not an adequate answer. Jacob looked at the ground upon which they sat. He did not have high expectations of ever being able to form part of normal society again. He, like some others there, guessed there was little to turn back to. The authorities in Safeira might brand them traitors to the crown, regardless of their reasons for speaking up against Forster and his tyranny. It was most likely the reason for Cullen wearing his mask.

"We may have to sacrifice our homes and being able to be with our families for some time," the older man continued when he noted the subdued faces of those sitting by the fire. "But we are setting standards, we are standing up for what will believe in." He looked at his son. "We do this so that our children might have a better future to live in; to not be overtaxed, to not starve, to have a right to speak. I am an old man," he said. "I have little left to lose, which is why your presence here is what I find so admirable. And the man who has brought us together I find equally admirable." He did not mention Cullen hiding his face. Billy was no fool, he was certain the man had his reason—he probably stood more to lose than the rest of them combined.

Someone had been passing mugs of mead around the fire and they sat silently, digesting the grand words that had just been spoken. Jonah rose his cup toward the roof of the cave in silent solidarity with Billy Black's words of wisdom. "Audeamus," he said.

They all rose their cups and spoke the word which united them; brought them together—comforted them. "Audeamus."

The mead was soon drunk, and a comfortable stillness settled as the eve went on. After supper, Billy chose to sit by the opening of the cave and watch the stars. He knew someone kept watch over him from the shadows, knew the piercing eyes and the sense of unease they might provoke.

"How long have you been here?" Billy asked, sipping on some more mead. He did not turn to face the man who stepped up to him. Cullen had not seen Billy in months. He remembered the state he had been in when he'd saved him from Forster; the blood, the broken bones. But it seemed the old man's spirit had yet to be broken.

"Long enough to hear you speak," Cullen said, sitting down next to him, his one knee up and the other leg extended. "Long enough to hear you inspire them."

Billy took another sip, still in deep contemplation of the star formations high up above. "We do what we can, sir. Right now, they need such words of comfort."

He saw the masked man clasp his gloved hands before him, resting over his knee. The shrouded eyes followed Billy's gaze until he also looked upward. "If all ends well, Mr. Black, and you are able to return to Hayes, what will you do?" Cullen asked him.

"Oh, I don't know," the older man chuckled. "I have been waiting for grandchildren for quite some time," he smiled. It made the corners of Cullen's lips tug faintly upward.

"Would you not wish to make a change?"

"We are making a change, right now," Billy said.

"In a sense, I guess. But when Forster and God knows who else are unmasked, I suspect things could return back to how they used to be."

The black orbs broke free from their contemplation of the sky. He turned to look at the man in black, sitting down by Billy's left side, leaning his back against a big boulder. "Things will not return to as they were. You have awakened something in us Angloans, sir. We finally have a voice and we will be heard."

"Of that, I have no doubt, Mr. Black," the young man nodded in agreement. "You do have a voice, a voice to do good, to inflict some level of change in society. There are more ways than one to fight corruption. Brute force will not always be the answer. Men like me do not always offer a long-term solution," he whispered.

Both settled back, having grown pensive. The pleasantness of their conversation had a foreboding tension hanging over it. Cullen was looking much further into the future than Billy suspected. But what he said was right. He had put on the mask and taken drastic actions against a tyrant like Forster. However, he knew that a man in a mask could not remain behind and hope to solve whatever problems might remain after Forster was beaten.

Billy Black chuckled. "Indeed, I could not see you as either a soldier of the Royal Guard or a politician."

Cullen, in turn, joined in on the laughter. "Had circumstances been different, maybe I might have ended up either one of those things, had my situation permitted me." He was careful not to give away too much about himself.

Billy finished the mead. "We are where we are, Mr. Cullen. We can only make the best of our situation," he smiled. "I believe my son has been expecting your return as he spoke with Miss Swan a few days ago."

The man in black rose to stand but caught the severe expression upon Billy's features.

"Have a care, sir, with that girl. I do not wish to see her too involved in this dangerous affair," he cautioned him.

The other bowed his head. "I would never let anything happen to her. I give you my word, Mr. Black." It was a short and simple sentence, yet it held such conviction and sincerity that Billy Black was entirely certain Cullen would do all in his power to keep his word. Billy saw him head back into the cave.

"Edward Cullen and Isabella Swan," he whispered to himself and shook his head. Such a pairing would only bring about tragedy if history was bound to repeat itself, he thought.

Jacob was preparing for the night. Most of the men had settled down and the great fires of the largest cave had all started fading into dying embers. He had seen _whom_ his father had been speaking with for some time. He let them have their conversation, hoping he would catch a moment of the outlaw's attention once he was done.

He placed the blanket to keep further away from the hot embers, lest he burned himself during the night. Soon snoring was heard and Jacob thought Cullen might have returned when he suddenly heard the steps and saw his pitch-black outline stick out like a sore thumb. When Cullen wished to be seen, not even a blind man would miss him.

He came to stand before the kneeling Jacob as he had adjusted the blankets. "I should like a word, Jacob," he whispered to the other man, waiting for the other to silently place down his pillow and rise, walking with him to the mouth of the cave where Cullen had previously been with his father.

"Sir?" Jacob said once they were far enough from the cave to hold a private conversation. He could sense the presence of a horse, no doubt the masked man was making ready to leave once they had spoken.

"I have some inquiries about your conversation with a certain spirited young lady," he blinked.

The milder March weather was not quite as chilling as the winter winds. Raven's Grove sighed as branches and bushes shifted in the faint winds. Somewhere they heard the hooting of an owl. "Did she say if she found anything, or if she knows if Mr. Ridge might have hidden away some information regarding Forster?"

Jacob wrung his hands, pushing back the long hair which had fallen into his face. "Oh, indeed she did. Mr. Ridge left behind a rather thick envelope that had been stored in Friar Blackwood's very office," he scoffed with an undertone of amusement. "I have it in my possession."

Cullen's eyes widened. "You mean to tell me Friar Blackwood was in Mr. Ridge's trust?"

"I was as surprised as you. But really, should we be? The whole lot in St. Nicholas are indeed strange…not really your typical men of the cloth, don't you think?" Jacob chuckled. "Friar Blackwood gives Nathan and Marcus free reins to do as they please. While Nathan has more the appearance of a brute, Marcus sulks and keeps away in his gardens."

"Aye," Cullen agreed. "The words Miss Haste had spoken to her: two birds and a saint. I could not be certain of them, and I didn't want to act before she returned."

That was Bella Swan's brilliance. Cullen had told him the words as well, and he had speculated over them for three months. Yet she had been the one to figure it out. He understood why Mr. Ridge and Miss Haste had chosen to confide in Bella. "Two birds and a saint: Swan, The Laughing Goose and St. Nicholas," Jacob filled in.

"Brilliant," Cullen breathed. He leaned against the thick stem of an ash tree and looked pensive. "And where is this envelope from St. Nicholas?"

Jacob nodded hastily and went to retrieve it. He snuck about in the darkness, finding his belongings and digging in his satchel. There it was, still as crisp and pristine as when he had gotten it. Jacob returned and pressed it into Cullen's awaiting hands. "Bella said she'd try to speak with Little Lucy and get her to hand Ridge's evidence over to her," he said.

Cullen looked at the heavy envelope, felt its weight in his hand and almost snorted. "That'll be the day. Miss Swan sure does speak her mind—but if anything, I can see who influences her in that department. Yet, I wonder if she will coax Mrs. Berg into telling her anything."

"We must not lose hope in our dear Isabella," Jacob argued.

"What about the final piece of information? Mr. Ridge must have handed her something right before passing, why would Miss Haste have mentioned her household or her family name otherwise?" Wouldn't she have told him? He did not think her so insincere as to lie. Bella Swan was an open book, and she was not a false sort of person, indeed not when so much was at stake.

"She said he never left anything for her or at her house. She said she grew suspicious that maybe he had decided not to include her in this affair once he realized how dangerous it truly was. She believes he most likely switched households or family. Bella didn't know where in Hayes Mr. Ridge might have turned to until she spoke with Friar Blackwood while retrieving the envelope. Now that I look at it, it makes a lot of sense."

"What does?" Cullen urged.

"That Mr. Ridge should have confided in Lord Masen, of course. He was the one who invited Judge Johnson from Safeira and tried to help father and me after all."

"Lord Masen?" Cullen exclaimed. "_Carlisle_ Masen?"

"The very same. I told her I would relay this to you as she did not think herself capable in breaching this subject with him."

"And well that she should not. She should not even mention her connection to Ridge or us in this matter," he said, absentmindedly stroking his chin.

"Do you believe Lord Masen would take kinder to you, Cullen?" Jacob asked. "Forgive my saying this, but would it not be strange if he blindly trusted in you?"

Cullen was still staring absentmindedly ahead, as if in deep thought. "He would be a fool if he did. I shall have to _borrow_ Ridge's evidence. I think I might be able to retrieve it."

"And how will you know what _it_ is?" Jacob asked. "If you don't mind my saying so, but this is a very fragile plan we are concocting here," he argued.

"I will know _it_ when I see it," Cullen shrugged casually. His laidback approach would not calm Jacob's nerves. A gloved hand came to rest on the other's shoulder. "Come now, Jacob, you must learn to relax," he smiled. "Let me worry about Carlisle Masen. Everything has thus far worked in our favor, has it not?" he blinked.

"I am uneasy in letting you simply waltz into his office and then just walk out with whatever it is you will be looking for. Friar Nathan has confided in me that Emmett McCarty is speculating about you based on your fighting style and he boasts that he will unmask you."

Cullen's eyes glistened. "I do have it on good authority that Mr. McCarty has been nosing around about me—like the rest of Hayes. But I shall not be drawn in by this information, of course." Jacob still looked tense. "Indeed, Jacob, I will not simply _waltz_ into Masen's townhouse. I am not a complete fool," Cullen promised him. "You worry like an old wife at times, do you know that?" the masked man said amusedly, giving him a playful clap on the cheek and flashing a charming smile as he turned to his horse. It signaled the end of their conversation. It was evident that the masked man knew what his mission now was.

"Well, someone has to!" Jacob exclaimed, flaring his nostrils as Cullen rode away.

* * *

Carlisle studied the left-hand corner of the opened ledger intently while murmuring to himself. He was going over his household's finances for the month, making sure that everything was in place. The small golden clock ticked in the corner. Behind him, the big windows that opened directly to the street let in the morning sunlight, a beautiful backdrop to his silent contemplation. He had spread out his notes and ledgers over the grand desk and kept the quill in his right hand as he absentmindedly drummed the inked tip on a torn piece of paper.

A faint knock sounded and before Carlisle could react, the doors opened as his son, Edward, waltzed into his office in his usual arrogant way.

"Good morning, father dear," Edward drawled. Carlisle looked up and then buried his nose once more in the paperwork, not noting how his son's eyes darted about the room.

"Mmm, yes. Morning, son," he mumbled as he scratched something on the paper.

Edward strolled about the room. "Lovely day," he said.

Carlisle paid little heed as his son encircled the room, stopping by the window and looking down at the street as if in deep assessment.

"I am not lending you more money, Edward," Carlisle said, dipping the tip of the quill in ink and writing down some more numbers as he wrinkled his nose.

"Then, how am I to have new clothes tailored?" his son drawled in his irritatingly thin voice.

"Since your arrival from England, I have never seen you wear the same thing twice Edward," Carlisle muttered.

"Yes, because fashion is ever-changing, father! And if there is one thing I am decidedly good at, it is fashion," Edward claimed with little passion.

"You will have to make do with the wardrobe you have. You spend more money on clothes than both your sisters combined, Edward." Carlisle put down the quill as he looked up and turned around with a frown. "It quite alarms me." Edward had been peering over his father's shoulder, staring at the ledgers.

"Yes, yes, but it is a special occasion," Edward urged, eyeing the desk.

"What could be so special that—"

"Why _courtship_, of course," his son stated matter-of-factly as he rolled his eyes. "It amazes me that you have not yet even hinted I should find me a wife, father."

Carlisle couldn't help as a condescending laugh etched its way up his throat. "Who, pray, would you be courting? I thought you had settled on the Stanley girl," he said.

His son had his hands clasped behind his slouched back and turned to face his father with a rather irritated and impatient expression on his face. "Why, of course I could not marry Miss Stanley, she would never handle Safeira," he argued. "Besides, whatever impression she might give away, that woman is a more devout Christian than she appears. I cannot have a wife that spends all her days going to St. Nicholas. Indeed, how tedious," he drawled.

Edward turned to walk back to the front of the desk, sitting in the chair that was placed before it. He brought out a crimson fan, fanning himself despite it being the very start of spring. "Terribly hot fire you have going," he said with an indifferent—almost bored—expression.

Carlisle leaned forward, now grown curious. "Who, pray, is _worthy_ enough to be courted by my son?" he encouraged with a hint of sarcasm that Edward appeared to not have perceived.

"While_ I_ believe that the only woman tolerable in this excuse for a town might not be all the rage in London or Safeira, she will suit me very well here. Indeed, I do not think I could do much better than Miss Swan," he said, fanning himself as he leaned back in the chair. "Come now father, and let me know that I have your approval, a refusal would crush me." However, Edward looked to be in such a dispassionate state that a refusal was the last thing on his mind. He looked bored, irritated by the exertion of having walked the extra set of stairs to his father's office.

Carlisle sneered, not able to turn from his son. "I quite admire Miss Swan. Say what you will for the impertinence her father might show at times, but they are a good family. She is too fine a woman for you—too much of a woman, I'd say." The father grew sad then, for he would have liked to have Isabella Swan as his daughter in law very much. "I cannot endorse such a courting when I know the match would not be suitable." Theirs was a wealthy family, as was the Swan family. They were among the few who could allow them the comfort of _choice_.

"You object to the girl?"

"Indeed not, I object to the _man_," Carlisle spat, getting up. "And what is this sudden interest in Miss Swan? Will you come to me again for more money to spend on new attire once you tire of her, Edward?" Carlisle came to stand before his son. "It is also known she is currently being courted by Collins, despite his rather lacking character. An engagement is to be expected at any moment."

"Indeed, I am a sporting man. Collins has not yet asked for her hand from what I understand. And I will not grow bored with—"

"That will be all," Carlisle muttered abruptly.

Slightly baffled, but mostly frowning, Edward was about to protest, his eyes once more flicking about the room.

"That will be _all_, Edward. You may go," Carlisle ordered. He had no wish for his son to remain in his office any longer.

The fop rose his nose in the air and let out a sound of indignation. He would not return to the office, for he knew Carlisle kept it under secure lock and key when he was not in there. Edward turned around and shut the door hard behind him.

* * *

"It has not escaped my attention that you go more often to St. Nicholas than you did before," Alice said as she looked up ahead. "Well, you _and_ Miss Stanley. I hear she rides over there almost daily now," the young woman tsked. "I had no idea she was such a devotee."

They had just been at Jessica Stanley's tea gathering and both women sat with irritating headaches. The fresh air already did them good. For the first time in weeks, the sun had deemed it pertinent to show itself. Bella sensed it as well as Alice; the promise of spring, the knowledge that she would be able to escape to Raven's Grove soon again.

"I find Friar Blackwood and Nathan to be interesting company," Bella answered, not meeting Alice's gaze. "They certainly offer more stimulating conversation than Miss Stanley might," she chuckled.

"I wonder, Bella if you might join us for dinner next week?" her friend asked. She seemed to have been wanting to ask that question for quite some time. Bella understood it was out of the ordinary if it was only she who was invited and not her parents.

"I shall be much obliged." She turned to face her friend. "Do you suppose all of your family will be there?" she wondered. She had no wish to sit under the scrutiny of Rosalie McCarty.

"Rosalie and her husband Emmett will be at the Stanley's," Alice blinked. "But…my brother will be there. Does that inconvenience you?" she asked, leaning forward and placing a friendly hand on her arm in the vis-à-vis carriage. "For I could make some excuse for him not to be there—"

The young brunette shook her head with a faint smile. "It will not vex me to have him there, Alice. I find him quite tolerable in smaller gatherings," she admitted. "And our promenades we had before going to Zafra has given me a better understanding of him."

"Then you do not object to him?"

Bella arched an eyebrow. "I said I found him tolerable enough—during those moments he puts in the effort to be. I did not say I should like to spend every waking hour with him," she chuckled. Alice pressed her lips together before letting a sad laugh escape her as well.

"Oh, Bella, I feel that he becomes so much better when he is by your side—not as vexing," her friend admitted with a blush. "He becomes the sort of man he used to be before. It is as if you wash away some of the silliness in him."

Gloved hands clasped in her lap as Bella blushed at the obvious compliment. She played slightly with the chestnut lock resting across her right shoulder. "Come, come, Alice," she mumbled. "You exaggerate."

"Indeed, I do not!" Alice exclaimed, straightening up. They were passing by the garrison and the carriage stopped, for Bella had expressed a need to visit Lucy at her tavern. "Edward…as you know, was so changed when he returned. But," her golden orbs trailed to look into the horizon longingly. "Watching him so concerned for you when you took that fall…" she trailed off. "It gives me hope that he might be redeemed," she admitted.

"Alice…while I can find your brother's company tolerable and even interesting at times, I must still make it clear that I am being courted by Major Collins, and that my acquaintance with Mr. Masen is entirely a friendly one. We have not arrived at any sort of understanding," she warned. "And I do not think we ever will." It crushed her to see Alice so broken down from it. But Bella understood. Alice wanted both their happiness and she would never force her friend to be courted by her brother.

"I should have liked for us to have been sisters," Alice admitted with some hint of shame on her features.

Bella took her hands in her own. "We are sisters, Alice! Maybe not bound by blood or marriage, but by understanding," she smiled. "Do you suppose that could be enough?" she wondered.

Alice squeezed her hands. "I do," she nodded.

"Good!" Bella smiled, settling back and gathering her skirts. They had reached The Laughing Goose. "For I am off to see Lucy!" she blinked just as the footman opened the carriage door. She was helped to step down as she gathered the masses of the dark blue skirt of her dress. Bella stepped back and watched her friend still sitting in the carriage.

"I will send a servant with the time for the dinner then," Alice said from atop the carriage. Bella gave her a nod of the head and Alice was off. She stood on the side of the road for a short while, watching the carriage disappear. Had Edward Masen been more agreeable, she might have spurred Alice's wishes. There were times where she doubted, truly, questioned her own feelings. But they were fleeting, there and gone in a heartbeat.

Bella could never marry such a fool.

She turned around and walked into The Laughing Goose, met by the stillness of an early afternoon. The midday meal had been eaten and supper was still hours away. The only people present in the tavern were those who came for a drink, cards, the warm fireplace or music.

"Miss Swan!" came the burly and jovial tones of Lucy Berg, as always, glued to her bar. Indeed, the quintessential picture Bella held of her beloved tavern could never be complete lest Lucy stood behind the bar. She strolled up to her while removing her hat.

"Mrs. Berg," she blinked, causing Lucy to firmly shake her head.

"Again, what've I told ya about that Mrs. Berg shit?" she burled while serving a glass of juice for her friend.

"That I should refer from such remarks, madam," the younger woman blinked, taking a sip of the sweet liquid. "And also, in the same line, stop trying to make an honest woman out of you," she laughed.

"There is me girl!" Lucy boomed proudly. "And tell me, Miss Swan, why have I not seen ya frequent my establishment more often?"

"Lucy, dear, I fell from my horse and nearly broke my shoulder," Bella answered.

"Aye but that shouldn't have stopped ya," Lucy joked. "I thought ya were tougher than that."

"Nothing quite lifts the spirit like hearing your encouragement, Lucy," the young woman said.

"Aye, but ya ain't here for that," the other stated matter-of-factly. How well she knew Bella Swan, that she could see through her as quickly as she walked through the door.

A shadow settled across Bella's features. "Indeed, I would speak with you, Lucy."

"We're speakin' now, miss."

"Alone, undisturbed." Bella leaned forward. "Away from prying eyes and strained ears."

Much like last time Bella had asked to speak with Lucy alone, the older woman got a severe look etched upon her features and threw down the rag. "Ted!" she shouted, a middle-aged man coming running from the back.

"Yeah, Lucy?" he asked her short of breath as he scratched his bald head.

"Take care of the front while I've a word with the little lady here," Lucy commanded before urging Bella to step behind the counter with her.

Ted nodded and went behind the bar, a gleeful smile curling upon his lips as he was temporarily promoted to barman—a most glamorous position in his eyes.

Bella picked up her skirts and followed behind Lucy, once more walking to her small quarters at the back of the tavern. It stood as it had last time, almost untouched by time, the only difference was that sunlight now peered through the window but did little in lightening up the place. The glass of the small window was dirty, probably having accumulated years' worth of filth and never been cleaned. The sunbeams which filtered through came out faint, as if in a haze or a fog.

"Things are never good, miss if ya be askin' to speak alone," Lucy muttered as she closed the door behind them.

Bella had no idea why she was so nervous, yet she grew jumpy. A part of her suspected Lucy would never reveal having been within Ridge's confidence.

"It is about Mr. Ridge—" she began but was promptly cut off by Lucy as she threw her hands high up in the air and gave out a snort of frustration.

"Not this again, Miss Swan!" she exclaimed as her brow furrowed and her nose wrinkled slightly. "I've told ya before and I'll tell ya again, I'll not have anythin' to do with this."

"But Lucy!" Bella argued. "Lucy this is important! It is about what Lucas Ridge brought to you."

She had never seen Lucy Berg grow pale before. Maybe such a scene might have been witnessed the night Cullen had humiliated Forster in The Laughing Goose. Yes, Lucy must have been white as a ghost then. But Bella had never expected that a short sentence should have thrown her off as it did.

"I _know_ Lucas came to you with something—something important, something he knew Forster would come for as well. Because as surely as I know he confided in you, I also know he was killed to be silenced. Because I suspect the trial of Jacob and Billy Black was not only to free those men, but to bring down Forster." She had blurted out the words, for fear that Lucy would stop her were she to hesitate. Bella licked her lips in anticipation. There was little else she could say or go on. Cullen now most likely knew the contents of the envelope, and she suspected he would not share them with her. She knew she had promised to remain outside the affair, but she needed to do this final thing.

"Oh now, girl, ya've surely gone too far this time." There was a hint of fear in Lucy's voice. But it was not fear for herself, but for the woman before her.

Bella ignored her remark. "Let me take the burden off your shoulders. You know Mr. Ridge trusted in me as well. I am determined that his findings shall see the light of day, whatever they may be."

"Isabella," Lucy sighed. "Please do not involve yerself in this matter—"

"I am already too far involved to turn back now. You know I cannot let this go, Lucy." When Lucy regarded her with an air of resignation, Bella kept speaking in her own defense. "I am taking precautions, I am not jumping into this and putting my own family at risk. You cannot surely think me that stupid."

"But doin' this alone, it will surely—"

"I never said I would tackle this by myself," she answered flustered. Bella was certain more questions would stem from such an answer. Yet, Bella knew she could never give away who she was really helping. "Jacob Black is the one who…who has taken this upon himself." It wasn't an entire lie, but she had withheld some of the truth and it bore down on her.

"Jacob Black?" Lucy pondered. Her hands came to rest upon her waist as she started pacing about the room. "Really now, Jacob Black?" she said to herself.

"If whatever Lucas left behind for you could be passed on to Jacob, I could—"

Yet, Lucy interrupted her once more, still left behind on the name she had been given. "Tell me, is that the same Jacob who fled to Raven's Grove?"

"You know it to be him." A notion of hope spread in Bella's chest for it seemed to her that Lucy was finally being persuaded.

"Same Jacob who is in league with Cullen, as the rumors say?"

"That I cannot answer," she said quickly.

Lucy's forehead wrinkled together as an irritated expression emerged. "Tell me now that if I gave ya the ledgers and accounts, would they come to Cullen?"

"I—that I cannot say, Lucy. I get no such information from Jacob and I most assuredly have no such lowly associations as to keep connections with an outlaw!" she blurted out, flustered.

Yet, it seemed the tavern owner, from years of having dealt with lying drunkards and all kinds of questionable characters did indeed see through Bella's façade. "Aye, so ya say. But I will let ya know now, Miss Swan, that if these ledgers and accounts that I hold do not come to Cullen, I won't give them to ya even if ya were the queen of Angloa herself!"

Bella ignored for a moment that Lucy had mentioned the evidence as being accounts and ledgers and stepped in closer. "Why would you wish this to get to Cullen?" she asked.

"Why?!" the stout tall woman almost shouted. "I'll tell ya why," she said passionately. "I saw that man, devil, whatever ya please to call him—I saw him take on Forster and humiliate him in such a way that it has kept me sleepin' like a baby ever since!" she exclaimed with her hands flying violently in the air. "Nothin' has given me more pleasure than seein' Forster treated in such a way. And I _know_ that if Cullen were to hold this information, he would surely use it to take down that blackguard who dares call himself a gentleman and a captain!"

"I—I heard he was here in the tavern, but I had no idea he went through so much trouble to humiliate Forster," Bella mumbled.

"Oh, Miss Swan, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven when I saw Forster gettin' his nose bloodied by that man and wet his pants, scared half to death. And what a gentleman that Cullen was, for he even left behind some coins fer me to fix up the place after he and the captain had had their squabble."

"Well, I have never associated with that man, but maybe Jacob could come here and take those ledgers?" she asked. "Maybe he does know Cullen and could pass them on?"

Lucy shook her head. "I'll only give these ledgers to one man—the man who showed me he'd use them well: to Cullen. You can have your friend Mr. Black pass that message along now," she stated. Bella grew wary. She trusted in Lucy but did not know if Cullen did. What if he never came, fearing it to be a trap?

"Do you not trust me?" she asked, almost hurt.

Lucy chuckled in a motherly way and went over to Bella. "I'd trust ya with my life, Miss Swan. But I'll not hand these things over to ya, because I care so fer yer safety," she said with her hands placed atop Bella's shoulders.

Bella nodded faintly. She'd have to return to St. Nicholas yet again and relay the message. "If I cannot persuade you…" she trailed off with a rather defeated look resting upon her features.

"Leave it to the madmen to take on each other. Ya've already been in the thick of it, ya said so yerself—ya almost broke yer shoulder," Lucy stated.

And there it was, Lucy's clever way of using her previously spoken words against her. "Touché," Bella murmured as they started heading back to the front before Ted got too carried away with illusions of grandeur and staged a mutiny at The Laughing Goose.

"Mama speaks of nothing else. And I have been worried sick about you since I was told as well!" Bella said as they sat down in the gardens. Collins pushed a stray lock out of his eyes and sighed.

"I am fine, really, Miss Swan."

She looked at him for a long time. They kept mostly to the Swan estate these days. Collins wouldn't take another chance and escort her outside of the walls or take her about town for the scrutiny they'd receive. He had just won her over and she had decided to stay by his side, despite the nasty gossip surrounding him. He knew that taking Forster side made him look villainous and he wished for nothing more than to turn away from the corrupted captain and throw him in jail. But, alas, Collins had grown used to his lifestyle and rank. He could not bear to lose it, along with losing Bella as well.

He looked at her, the way the beams caressed her pale skin. He found her beautiful, very beautiful. While their conversation was pleasant, he could content himself with gazing at her at every hour of the day. He knew he wished for her as a wife. When Hayes calmed down and Cullen was taken care of, he knew he'd ask for her hand.

Yet, there was one thing that bothered him. One thing that plagued his mind whenever he shut his eyes. Cullen had worried so for Bella. While the man in black was always arrogantly amused and never displayed any feelings beyond such, Bella's name had made his eyes widen and his body tense that night in his chambers.

"I know this will come from nowhere," Collins began. He swallowed hard and licked his lips in anticipation. The top buttons of his green jacket uniform were unbuttoned, letting the mild wind caress the thin material of his shirt and touch the skin underneath. He turned to her, calmly looking into her eyes. "What relation do you have with Cullen?"

If there was one thing he liked about Bella, it was her blatant honesty. The girl couldn't lie however hard she tried to, not when directly asked. She was too earnest in her countenance. The dark delicate eyebrows shot up to her hairline as the wind dragged at her chestnut locks. Her rosy cheeks faded, as did the vibrant chocolate orbs.

"I…what do you mean?" she asked, slowly.

"I wonder what relation you hold to Cullen?"

She let out a nervous laugh and turned from him. "I have no acquaintance with outlaws, James!" she exclaimed, growing flustered. "Wherever did you get such an idea?" she wondered.

Collins looked at her for a long while, pressing his lips together, his handsome features stiff, harsh lines descending upon his brow as he creased it. "Nowhere," he finally settled on. "A desperate attempt to catch him, that is all. I wondered if he might have sought you out," he lied.

Bella breathed out, glad she had managed to duck the situation. "Do you really believe he'd seek me out?" she laughed.

"Well, if he ever got to see you, I wouldn't be so surprised." His forward statement deepened the fluster on her cheeks and made her look away in embarrassment. Collins smirked.

She would not yet touch the rumors and gossip she'd heard about him. Bella had not the heart for it. She delighted in their conversation and his company. It made her feel guilty to be ignoring such an important thing. But ignore it she did, not wanting to deal with yet another problem in her life. Aye, Bella had not yet realized the anxiety she was holding back at realizing who James Collins truly was.

"You are scandalous!" she laughed at him. But deep inside, Bella's rattled heart settled down, now surely certain the danger was over. Collins could not know of her involvement with either Jacob or Cullen.

But he knew that something was off from the moment she'd answered him. Collins grew wary inside.

Bella Swan had lied to him.

* * *

With sureness in step and quick of pace, the by now famous shadow was making its way through the hallways of the Masen townhouse. The gloved hands guided him via the walls, he took care in not making too much sound with the heels of his feet, trailing along the corridors, the shrouded eyes already used to the strange darkness in which he resided.

He reached his destination, the anticipation of being caught resting heavy upon his shoulders. The vast mahogany doors that almost reached the tall ceiling stood threatening. He already knew such doors would be locked. But, already prepared, he took out two strange metal contraptions from his pockets and started picking the lock with an expert hand. Of course, absorbed by such a task, the shadow did not notice the frightened young maid slipping silently down the corridor. Her wax candle which had been high above her head mere minutes before had gone out as a gust of wind from an open window had extinguished the flame, leaving the girl in near darkness. She had come from the kitchens and was heading up to the top of the house, where the servant's quarters were.

She had never enjoyed the creaking hallways of the townhouse or the threatening shadows the dancing branches outside would cast upon the walls. It gave her nightmares, much more so in winter than during the gentler summers.

Yet, now that she walked down the long corridor, she spotted the creature of the night and stopped, the primal part of her brain commanding her to stand perfectly still. Mayhap she thought that she wouldn't be attacked by the creature if it couldn't see her move.

The maid, Nora, could but shiver as she saw the crouching figure by the locks until she heard the click of the door and saw it slink inside, slowly closing the door behind it. She, of course, knowing that the lord of the house must have just retired to bed, darted to his rooms, not caring for decorum. Carlisle Masen was a kind employer and would not object to her intrusion once she explained what she had just witnessed.

Unaware of who had just seen him, Edward Cullen rummaged around within the office. He stood up at one time, his hands on his hips, a defeated sigh escaping him. He had to commend Lord Masen in his hiding of Ridge's evidence—not that Cullen even knew where he should be looking. He had gone to the shelves lining the room, looked in the corners. Finally, the only viable place left was the massive desk, which he had already gone through.

Cullen scratched his head through the mask and sighed once more. Maybe there was a hidden compartment in the desk. He had read of such contraptions before. In one corner stood the tall clock, ticking away the seconds; its sound nerve-racking. He knew that the longer he lingered, the more likely that he would be discovered. The whole house had just retired for the night, yet he had taken a great risk in appearing so early.

He positioned himself in such a way that he was lying on his back, directly under the desk. He took off a glove and trailed his naked fingers along the wood, hoping to find a hidden enclosure of some sorts. His eyes, while still used to the darkness in that room, would do him little good. But, by going entirely by feeling, he eventually found what he was looking for and almost gave out a triumphant exclamation when he turned a knob and the latch opened, spitting out a wooden box. Cullen picked it up and opened it, finding a letter—the seal had been broken. He hastened to stand and secured the letter in his sash where he knew he wouldn't lose it.

Triumphantly, he replaced the box in its compartment and put it back in the desk. As soon as he heard it click into place, Cullen froze when hearing the whispers and faint footsteps coming from the corridor, only to end by the door, which he had not locked behind him.

"…certain he went here?" he heard Carlisle Masen's muffled voice ask someone behind the door.

"Y-yes," he heard someone else say.

Cullen looked around for a means of escape but saw that there was no other way leading him out of the room save the window.

Meanwhile, behind the door, Carlisle stood with Nora, backed by Joseph and a few servants and footmen. Joseph had made such a ruckus walking down the hallway that he thought the thief—whoever he was—would hear the loud footsteps. "Do not shoot him, only hold the pistols as a warning. I do not wish for anyone to lose their life here tonight," Carlisle urged the men. They were five in total, all carrying guns.

"Did you see if he carried any weapons?" Joseph asked Nora.

"I only saw a shadow, a semblance of a man…he didn't look human," she shivered.

"There, there," Carlisle said. "Stay back now, Miss Glover, let us take it from here."

They all made ready to burst in and catch the thief red-handed. Carlisle hoped it was jewels and riches he searched for, and not Forster who was on his trail. They felt the handle of the door; it was unlocked.

The five men all felt the adrenaline rush through their veins, they took deep breaths and squinted their eyes as Nora held a candle in each hand to illuminate the corridor.

One servant pushed the door open violently and jumped in with a drawn pistol, promptly followed by Carlisle, Joseph and the other two. As soon as they stepped in, they saw a figure disappear in the corner of the grand window, a part of it opened.

"He has escaped via the front façade!" Carlisle shouted. "To the other room!" he urged as they doubled back, hoping to catch him in the next room.

As Carlisle Masen and his entourage made for the left, Cullen pressed against the outer wall of the house's façade and smirked. Right below him, there was a wide balcony that connected to the parlor. He waited until he no longer heard the footsteps in the corridor and then promptly aimed for the balcony and stepped out into thin air, letting himself fall. With the graceful and sure footing of a cat, he landed in a crouching position, steadying himself with his hand and stood up, pressing himself once more against the wall. He held his breath, listening to hear if someone had noticed his impact on the stone of the balcony. The only thing he heard was the frustrated exclamations of Lord Masen as he realized he wouldn't find him lounging outside of the adjoining room to the office.

Cullen produced once more the pins to pick the lock of the tall French doors leading to the balcony. This lock was easier to open, and he was soon inside, making sure to lock the door behind him. He needed to be quick and thought that escaping through the garden might be the fastest and most secure way.

He made his way through the rooms with a comfortable familiarity, for he knew the place well. He saw the doors leading to the gardens through the dark sitting room and opened them. Cullen saw the wall to the street in the distance and was about to dart across when a sword came to rest across his chest.

The blood in his veins froze and never before had he stopped so abruptly in his tracks.

Emmett McCarty grinned when he first came up to Cullen who stood rooted in place, the ominous aura extending itself and greatly clashing with the otherwise peace of the night.

There was a moment where none of them knew how to react. Emmett did not gloat, nor did he dare to speak. Standing before him was the man of whom so much had been spoken. Indeed, it was the man over whom he himself had been speculating these past months. But seeing him thus, poised before him, still managing to feel threatening despite lacking any weapon in hand, Emmett had to admit that he swallowed extra hard. He could not escape the almost defying glance that pierced through his orbs. Emmett, who prided himself in his skills in combat felt, for the first time, that they might not be of use to him. And the sword, which always proved such a source of security, suddenly grew into a flimsy and useless piece of metal in his hand.

Yet, he saw in the man's stance and change in posture, that he was about to change positions. And Emmett reacted fast enough, trying to stop Cullen from whatever it was he aimed to do. He had no real quarrel with the man, but he supposed Cullen had not merely entered the Masen townhouse for some tea and a chat about the weather.

In a swift motion, Emmett slashed with his sword as Cullen jumped back. The blade managed to catch the fabric of his left arm but did not cut through to his skin. It merely sliced the textile, gaping open to reveal the tensed muscle underneath. While Emmett took time to register what had just happened, Cullen faced the inside of the parlor and saw two gleaming rapiers from the past century resting across each other decoratively on the wall. He did not flinch one instant as he reached for one of them just as McCarty approached rapidly.

What Emmett had been wishing for months, was suddenly cast upon him in a bizarre twist of fate. The young gentleman found himself in a heated duel with the masked man. Their swords flashed insanely fast in the darkness of night. Emmett had never faced such a technique. This man did not fight for sport, he fought like a battle-hardened warrior. There was a certain rush to his moves, yet so calculated that Emmett took great care in not revealing too much about himself in the way he fought.

But he could not ignore that the man in black was superb, adapting so quickly to his change of techniques that the young Mr. McCarty thought himself to be fencing a grandmaster. And then he perceived it—a reaction within his opponent that had him flabbergasted—the man in black was _smiling_. The display of pearly white teeth threw Emmett off. While he was sweating profusely in trying to disarm the other man, Cullen seemed to be enjoying their confrontation.

"You fight well, sir," the dark and ominous voice growled as he parried yet another block from him. "Much better than the captain!"

Emmett growled back, unaware that Jasper Hale had run out into the garden with Alice. Both stared dumbfounded at the two as they battled atop the stone platform where Emmett would usually fight Collins. He felt it in his arm, how he grew tired, yet Cullen did not show any signs of fatigue. Truly, Emmett thought, this must be the devil incarnated!

"Jasper, that's the man who broke into Wilson's estate!" Alice exclaimed with utter fear in her voice. She saw the swords dance and the men manage the blades to block, parry, and attack.

"That's Cullen!" Jasper gritted back as he ran his hands through his hair. He was lost at what to do. Jasper admired Cullen, thus he could not understand what the man in black was doing sneaking around Carlisle Masen's estate.

"W-we must do something lest he wounds Emmett!" Alice exclaimed. She turned into the parlor. "Papa!" she shouted. "Here!"

Cullen allowed a glance at their spectators. "It seems, my friend, we shall not finish this fight," he concluded after what he saw Alice Hale do.

But Emmett would have none of it. He kept putting more force into his blade, letting his emotions rule over his rationality. He no longer fought reserved and calculated. It was enough to give the other man an opening.

Carlisle, Esmeralda, and some more servants came from within the house, drawn out by Alice's cries and the clash of swords. Upon the fantastical sight, they all watched in stunned disbelief. In two hasty movements, Cullen drew Emmett's sword closer about him, circulating his blade against the other's and managing to remove it from Emmett's hand, thus disarming him.

One of the footmen aimed a pistol at Cullen in fear of what he had seen and pulled the trigger. The shot rang through the town and alerted the patrolling Royal Guard, who was just a few houses further down the street.

* * *

**A/N: I am finally finished with my degree. Thank you for the encouragements during the weeks of my finals and my thesis! I will now have time to update twice a week again. Maybe even three times? :) I wish for this fic to finish before the end of summer! There are still some chapters to go.**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	22. Chapter 22

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 22_

Sgt. Thompson was immediately drawn in by the sound of fighting. Ever since his unfortunate run-in with the ghost of Cullen, Captain Forster had been sulking in his quarters, demanding that the patrols of Hayes be more extensive. He had a personal vendetta against the man who had humiliated him and scarred his face. The whole garrison felt his anger. Thompson was certain he must have dropped a dress size already from the long patrols and stress of being screamed at. Major Collins did little to intercede.

There was also the question of the reward money, now increased to five thousand crowns for the capture of Cullen, dead or alive. With such a sum, Thompson could perhaps buy The Laughing Goose. The very thought made his head soar in the clouds and his face settled in a dream-like state. Maybe Dory would be persuaded to leave the Swan mansion and come work for him.

Thus, the mild March night—when the sound of clashing swords echoed past the Masen townhouse, soon interrupted by the reverberating ricochet of a fired pistol—Thompson already knew it had to do with Cullen. He therefore madly urged his lancers to run toward it. Once more, the peaceful night of Hayes had been disturbed by violent commotion.

The footman had missed, his hand trembling slightly as he paled when two gleaming eyes scrutinized him with their regard.

Cullen heard the shouts of the soldiers and saw the whole Masen household stare at him in utter disbelief. For a split instant, his gleaming orbs collided with Carlisle Masen's. He was pale and rooted in place, not yet having processed who was in his back garden.

The man in black fully turned to face them. He gave a mocking bow and then cast down the sword, darting for the far-off wall, soon over it and disappearing into the night.

The minutes ticked by and soon the entire Royal Guard was aware that Cullen had been spotted at the Masen's. Captain Forster, who had not stepped outside into the public eye since his last unfortunate confrontation with the masked man, had vowed to kill the blackguard. He would therefore not rest until he saw him hanged. As soon as the news reached back to him and Collins, the whole garrison took to the streets and went to the area where the Masens lived, sure they would find Cullen—no one had yet seen him escape the town upon his black horse.

In the Swan mansion, they had all awoken just before midnight by the shots and shouts that had disturbed most of Hayes. Lorraine and Robert went with some other servants to inquire about the commotion that was rampant. They soon returned with such juicy gossip that Bella could only sit and gape in disbelief. She was quickly ushered into her room with Sara and told to lock the door.

"They will not catch him, miss!" Sara urged.

Bella frowned and folded her arms before her defiantly. She did it to keep from wringing her hands. "Why should I care if they catch him?" she muttered, refusing to look at her chambermaid.

Sara remained quiet but Bella perceived the faint smirk as the maid made sure the windows were all locked and secured. "Your parents will surely keep out of bed a while longer, I shall keep up in my quarters and make sure to follow any new developments. But you should get some rest, Miss Swan," Sara said in the open door. Both she and Bella knew that would not happen. "Make sure to lock the door when I leave," Sara advised before closing it behind her.

Bella settled back on her unmade bed, dwarfed by the huge number of puffy blankets that had been pulled to the side when she'd rushed up, awoken by the shots. She shook her head, the silver light of the crescent moon cascading into her room through the windows in the doors of her balcony.

Just as she had turned the key, Bella heard the knock. Faint at first, then growing.

She muttered something under her breath and turned around, finding exactly who she was expecting. There, standing on her balcony, was none other than Cullen himself. She had a mind to refuse him entry into her chamber but knew he ran a risk of getting captured. Bella tied the dark blue robe further about her body, not wishing for him to see her in her nightgown again.

She saw him smirk in the shadows as she opened the door. Bella jumped back as he took a decided step inside and closed the balcony door behind him. Both froze for a moment as they heard the Royal Guard outside, patrolling the streets, knocking on the doors.

"You went to Masen," she stated matter-of-factly, placing her hands on her hips.

"I went to Masen," he said, faintly catching his breath, slowly pacing up to her with a charming smirk.

"You were caught."

He started walking around her slowly, looking her up and down. "I never get caught, my lady."

Bella gave out a huff of frustration. "They _could_ have caught you!" she hissed as she turned, only to find him a hair's breadth away. "They still can."

"Did you worry for my safety?" he asked. The tone he held was sincere, smooth, velvety as it brushed up against her. She stared at the full lips, at the dip in his chin, the tensed jaw, the piercing eyes. He was so close, too close. She could sense the waft of sandalwood, of pine, and the fresh fragrance of the night. She felt a hand trail up her back, almost hesitant; like he wanted to pull her closer. Bella dared to look directly into his eyes, however, they were obscured, hidden in the shadows. She only saw two gleaming orbs as they regarded her from behind the black mask.

"I—" she was about to answer him, mayhap, for the first time, an honest answer of what she really thought. Bella did worry for this man, as strange as it was to admit to herself. But a strange part of her held the belief that he was invincible, that he could best anyone. He stood before her unlike anyone she had ever met before and she couldn't explain why she could both confide in him yet be vexed by him. But her pride prevented her from saying more than she could have. "You take unnecessary risks," she settled on. Bella gritted her teeth together. "We do not need another man to fall victim to Captain Forster."

"I wouldn't call myself a victim, Miss Swan," he whispered huskily into her ear, the warm breath of his voice tickling her skin.

"Then…what _would_ you call yourself?" she asked, mesmerized by the way he neared her, losing control over her own devices. Bella felt lured in by him, drawn in by his words, his glinting eyes, his whispers. A gloved hand came up to her face, slowly. Tenderly he cupped her chin in his hand and trailed his thumb along the jawline. She knew where his caresses were leading them, and Bella thought she might collapse as her knees started shaking. Her heartbeat had grown elevated and her eyes wide.

Yet, she did not stop him.

He might have gone further, had not the ruckus at the front of the house sent them both into a frozen stupor.

Bella recognized the baritone voice echo through the hallways of the manor. Her eyes were wide now, but because of a completely different reason. She saw, in the way he had tensed, that Cullen too recognized that voice.

"Thompson," he growled as he frowned at the locked door.

The lancers were going through the house. "Search every room, you know the drill, men!" they could hear the rotund sergeant order his men. The shuffle of boots upon the wooden floor had Bella grow pale. She turned back to Cullen in panic.

"Hide!" she ordered him in turn.

He looked around the room, not finding many places he could go. They could hear the lancers near in the hallway. "I must protest!" Charles Swan's angered tone sounded as he no doubt walked alongside the soldiers. "This is highly invasive; the mayor shall hear of this!" he shouted.

"There is nowhere to hide," Cullen gritted his teeth. He was right, the wardrobe was too small for him and there was no doubt that the lancers would be looking under the bed. Bella looked at him, wondering if she would be sent to prison or end up in the gallows for being caught with a known outlaw in her room.

Sgt. Thompson went up to the elegant mahogany doors and turned the handle. "This one is locked, Mr. Swan," he muttered, scratching his head. "Whose room is this?"

"My daughter's," Charles spat. "I will not have you brutes enter her personal chambers and scare the poor girl to death!"

Thompson wrung his hands with an apologetic look. "I understand your anger, Mr. Swan, but Captain Forster has insisted we search each house this side of town as that fellow Cullen has not been seen near any of the gates—thus he cannot yet have escaped."

Charles shook his head with a disgusted look on his face. "You lot merely wish to claim the money for his capture," he spat as he crossed his arms before his chest.

Thompson grew red as he tried to counter-argue the gentleman. "Now, Mr. Swan—"

"I will not have it!" Charles shouted.

A corporal stepped forward. "Would you rather have us and the sergeant search these rooms, or shall I call on the captain himself? I wonder how he will react if we drag him up here. He will not take kindly to it and see your interference as suspicious," the soldier said haughtily. "Now, bid your daughter to unlock this door or we shall force it in."

Charles looked from the sergeant to the corporal before turning to the door. "Bella!" he shouted while banging on the wood. They could hear the rustling of sheets and the frantic footsteps of the young woman as she was no doubt getting out of bed. The key turned in the lock and the door creaked open.

Bella Swan looked as if she'd seen a ghost once she saw the number of men outside her chambers. "What on earth is happening?" she managed to stutter. "Papa, what have you done?" she turned to him.

"Indeed, I have done nothing!" Charles exclaimed back.

"Well, then why are the Royal Guards here?" she insisted.

"We are searching for the outlaw Cullen, madam," the corporal leaned forward to explain. Bella stretched her neck and saw Sgt. Thompson winking awkwardly at her from behind the corporal. She pulled the dark blue robe tightly about her. Her lose hair was swept away from her face as her hand came up frantically.

"I house no outlaws here, gentlemen," she said with a look of indignation. "What on earth do you take me for?" she asked, disgusted. Technically it was the truth, Cullen wasn't _really_ an outlaw.

"Oh, we meant no disrespect, Miss Swan," Sgt. Thompson began until the corporal pushed past the young woman.

"How dare you!" she shouted and then turned to her father. "Papa, how dares he?"

"How _dare_ you manhandle my daughter thusly, sir?" Charles said fiercely. The corporal walked up to the bed, noting it looked as if she had just stepped out of it, the covers were in a bulky bundle together with a cluster of pillows over it. It was a cold room and the young woman seemed to have thrown some extra thick covers over her bed. He looked underneath the bed, finding it empty.

"Bring in the candles," he ordered. The other lancers stepped in, disregarding Bella and her father completely. Sgt. Thompson seemed to be the only one to respect Bella's boundaries and stood outside of her rooms with an ashamed look on his face. He finally managed to muster up enough courage to step inside.

"I beg your forgiveness, Mr. and Miss Swan, but I cannot disobey the direct orders of my captain," he said sheepishly by the door.

The lancers combed through the room. Bella thought her heart would give out on her. They ransacked the wardrobe, looked behind drapes and into small cabinets—anything that might suggest Cullen had been there.

Charles held his daughter in a firm embrace. "They went through mine and your mother's rooms as well, she is with Dory and the rest of the kitchen staff, hiding from these brutes," he whispered to her. The young woman could not bring herself to speak, lest her tone faltered and she gave away how truly nervous she was. She settled on a stiff nod, hoping her father would not notice her shivers.

After a while, Thompson decided they were finished. "Alright, alright, we have gone through the poor girl's rooms enough!" he barked, growing angry at the lancer's precision in going over her clothes. "There are more rooms in this house we should investigate," he growled. The lancers stepped out and, standing in the door, Thompson bowed.

"I hope you will ever come to forgive this intrusion, Miss Swan."

Bella pressed her lips together. "You may never see any more of Dory's pies in the future, sergeant, if this becomes a habit," she sneered at him as her father went to continue with the soldiers to make sure they did not manhandle his servants' quarters next.

The words seemed to completely break down the sergeant. "Oh, but miss!" he began.

"We need to keep looking, sergeant," the bossy corporal ordered. Thompson looked like a small child that had just been yelled at by his father. He nodded and the group soon continued up the corridor.

"Lock the door behind us, in case a stray lancer comes up this way. That uniform has lost its respect in my eyes, Bella. They seem to only admit brutes into the Royal Guard these days!" he shouted loud and clear so that the others might hear.

"I will bolt this door shut until the sun comes up, papa," she promised. Charles gave his daughter a kiss on her head and the rushed after Thompson.

"Wilson will surely have all your heads for this!" she could hear him exclaim at the end of the corridor.

The door to her room came shut, locked for the second time that night. She was left to stand in the silver moonlight, leaning her forehead against the cool wood. Bella remained still until she could no longer hear the lancers. Silence settled as she collected herself and walked over to the bed. Bella regarded the bundle and swiftly moved aside the blankets, finding a lounging Cullen in the middle of her bed with a satisfied smirk on his lips.

She placed both hands defiantly on her hips, flaring her nostrils and watching him with a condescending regard. "That was very close, Mr. Cullen," she reprimanded.

He settled further in her bed, placing a hand beneath his head and resting in a more comfortable position. He took in the canopy above him and the smirk grew wider. "I must say, your bed is exceptionally soft, Miss Swan," he teased, amused, and unaffected by the whole experience.

She neared the bed and him. "I think you enjoy making a habit of these nocturnal visits to my chambers," she remarked dryly. "I suggest you do not get used to my bed."

He sighed, unmoved by her remark. Rather, as always, he seemed to find her anger with him endearing. "I think you _were_ worried about me," he blinked, moving to stand. He stretched his tall form, towering over her. The nearness and comfortable familiarity of him made her back away in a rush, blushing.

"Did you get what you wanted at Masen's?" She turned from him not to show her blushing face, but he saw it in her body language, in her shying away from him.

"I did."

"What was it?"

She could hear him reach for the sash, retrieving a letter. "I have not read it." It had been slightly wrinkled. She spotted the broken seal. Then, Carlisle Masen must have read it.

"Do you know…who truly killed Mr. Ridge?" she whispered; her eyes fixed on the envelope in his gloved hand. There was the answer she so longed to find.

Cullen was not his laid-back self anymore. A severe expression had etched its way into his stance, into the very fingers that squeezed the letter.

"Yes," he whispered.

She had promised Jacob that she would no longer involve herself in the affair. She had helped them locate where Ridge had left behind his evidence. But Bella Swan could not ignore the curiosity—the need to know who had been responsible for her friend's death.

Cullen secured the letter once more in the fold of his sash. They stood still as the lancers walked back down the hallway, moving to the next house on the street. She wrung her hands and kept her eyes cast down, deep in thought.

Their conversation had long since run its course, but Cullen had yet to move to the balcony and leave the same way he came. Something was left unsaid, and he did not know how to breach the subject. "Speak your mind, sir," she told him.

"You should give up your acquaintance with Major Collins, miss," he rasped.

"He is a good man, despite what Hayes might think. I refuse to think that he is as negligent as you would all have me believe," she said through gritted teeth. Bella stood up for Collins, for the man she knew he was.

Her words dismayed the man before her. "He is involved in this, Miss Swan—"

"He can tell me himself. I will not have everyone else order me about in this matter." She did not realize her own stubbornness, her own blindness.

Cullen strode up to her, his arms placed about her forearms, bringing her to face him, to show the severity of the matter. "The men who shot at you and Collins upon your return were aiming at _you_, Miss Swan, because of your association with the major!" he hissed to her. She sensed the frown beneath the mask, her breath leaving her lungs quickly, stripping the words from her.

But that was not what had rendered her completely mute.

Cullen faced the balcony. Next to it, she had placed the lit oil lamp. The silver light the full moon mingled with the golden flames had found their way to Cullen. His orbs were captured in the bright light. For the first time, Bella Swan could perceive them fully.

Emerald eyes.

A deep and vivid green that sparked with intensity in their regard of her. An explosion of color that drew her in, reminding her of the rolling hills outside of Hayes in summer.

Her lips parted, her expression astonished. She recognized those eyes from somewhere. Mesmerized she inspected them further, leaning in, trying to discern where she had seen this man before.

Suddenly, Cullen stepped away from her, turning from the inquisitive chocolate orbs that analyzed him so.

"H-how can you know this?" she breathed.

"I know," he growled with his back to her. For the first time, Bella felt like she held the power in their conversation.

"The night at The Laughing Goose—when you attacked Captain Forster," she whispered. "Why did you do it?" She was reminded of what Collins had asked her; about Cullen. Had he done it for her?

His shoulder blades shifted with the tension, she saw the rippling in the black fabric. His right hand went to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He had no answer to give her.

Cullen always had a witty remark, yet she had caught him this time. But Bella did not feel victorious at all. It felt as if she had unearthed something that should be hidden; much like his face. She did not wish to know that he housed any sort of feelings for her, or—in the absolute truth—who was truly beneath the mask.

That made him human in her eyes. And if he was human, he could die.

He had been right, Bella then realized. She _did_ worry for him, despite what she had been telling herself. Which meant that she cared for this man, to some degree.

The man in black turned to face her. "I thank you for hiding me from the lancers, Miss Swan. I will not disturb you again," he bowed, making his way to her balcony.

Bella stood rooted, watching him leave. A part of her wanted to cry out for him, ask him to stay. Yet, another part didn't want to have anything more to do with him. She was courted by Collins and expected he would ask for her hand any day now. Besides, nothing good could come of a relationship between two people named Isabella Swan and Edward Cullen; if history was doomed to repeat itself.

She watched him open the balcony doors, turn around and bow and then jump down into her gardens. Her heart would not slow down, and she felt her head spin with conflicting emotions. Bella hurried after him in the end, standing on the balcony and saw as he rushed toward the pond and was swallowed by the branches of the weeping willow.

As she stood exposed to the chill of an early spring, wallowing in the metallic scent of wet earth and fragrance of the night, Bella realized she recognized those green orbs. She _knew_ who this man was, alas she could not yet place a face with those eyes.

* * *

In the confinements of a secret room somewhere in Hayes, the still black-garbed man sat down with a deep breath. He could not forget the way she had looked at him when asking why he had gone after Forster. How obvious it had been—that he had done it for her. A closed fist came down harshly on the small table to the side, holding his regular clothes thrown hastily across a chair.

He knew he had placed himself in such a situation, yet it did not stop him from damning every decision which had led him to that moment. As Cullen, he knew it was dangerous to even seek her out. As his other self, there was never a chance she might look twice at him. Bella Swan was set on having Collins, despite his lacking character, and it drove him mad.

He stripped off the mask and gloves, lighting a small candle and retrieving the letter from his sash. There was only Lucy Berg's tavern left to visit now, and then he would have all the evidence he needed.

While Safeira and Wessport kept occupied with the signs of revolt in the north, he might send the evidence of what was going on in Hayes to people of power yet good character who might help in taking down the current administration of the town.

He finally sat down and read Mr. Ridge's letter.

_Dear whoever gets this letter,_

_I shall not mention the name of the person I'd wish to destine this to because of the fear that this information might fall into the wrong hands. If that is the case, then I do not hold much hope for Hayes any longer._

_I shall soon be killed, I suspect. Captain Forster has come to threaten me several times to stop digging in the archives and the city's accounts about him. I have tried to turn to several people for help in Safeira and Wessport, but I believe my letters have not reached them. I do not wish to involve anyone in Hayes, lest they also get the same threats I have. This letter is a final precaution, should I come to perish._

_The other day, Forster found some of the evidence I'd gathered about him; about tax collections. But what he only found was the copies I made. I think I could have kept my life, had I not discovered that Captain Forster is merely a pawn for someone else in this town. What I am about to tell you cannot be disclosed to anyone expect from those you have sought out while gathering the pieces I placed out. They are people of utmost trust and I expect you could all help each other, should the need ever come to it. My findings are summarized in this list:_

_1\. The envelope with all the correspondence between Captain Forster and this individual that I have left in safe hands._

_2\. The ledgers and accounts that I have given to someone else._

_3\. This letter, that will summarize my findings and explain the evidence. I shall not disclose how I came about all pieces of information. _

_I trusted in the law, but never realized how corrupt Hayes truly was. I hope, that by disclosing this evidence to you, dear reader, you might use it to rid Hayes of Forster and those like him._

He had to stop, his mouth had grown dry after having read the first page. The words made him sick, reaffirming what he already knew to be true. Ridge had been killed. The penmanship was careful, but he saw that some letters had been drawn in a shaking hand. Here and there were splatters of ink.

_The accounts and ledgers detailing Hayes' taxes are quite vague in the local archives. They are badly kept since few people seem to control their validity. We townspeople, people of good faith, have always paid the money due to the crown without questioning the Royal Guard when collecting it, despite the fact that a magistrate has not been "available" to oversee the tax collection for the past year to come. Perhaps, because of the general goodwill of us people, we were taken advantage of by those who wished to get rich on our behalf._

_I started digging in the local archives and eventually, hidden away where no one thought they would be found, I found ledgers and accounts for the past two years; 1792-1793. Indeed, it was to my grand surprise to see that Hayes had officially been taxed a smaller amount than I suspected. 650,200 crowns were officially reported for 1792 to the royal treasury in Safeira. 638,000 crowns were reported for '93. This might seem normal if I had not gone further and checked the accounting done for these two years. Obviously, already suspecting tax fraud, I looked up Captain Forster's personal records after—shamefully admitting to it—breaking into the archives in the cellar of the Town Hall; not that they are very guarded._

_In these accounts I found two abnormalities:_

_1\. Captain Forster does not pay taxes and taxes are not omitted from his salary. In fact, Captain Forster's official salary does not match the amount present in his spending. He overspends by more than double of what he earns._

_2\. Mayor Wilson, like Captain Forster, overspends by almost eight times more than he earns. Transactions in these records also account for large sums of money being given, unofficially, to the mayor each month a few days after the taxes are collected._

_What these findings show are, as I suspected, that Hayes is overtaxed, and the extra amount is placed mainly into Mayor Wilson's pockets. He has been, for the last few years since his arrival, making himself rich on our behalf. He has managed to erase most of his paper trail in this matter. Indeed, up until this point, I had no reason to think Wilson was anything but greedy. And, were I to present these findings in court, it would still be difficult to prove the full extent of his crime. I suppose it would take me months, maybe even years._

_However, had it not been for a bundle of letters I stumbled upon thanks in part to my maid, I might not have taken this issue further._

_As it were, in the sealed envelope that I have mentioned beforehand, is the lengthy correspondence between Mayor Wilson and Captain Forster from January of '94 until early summer, right when Billy Black was arrested. Such a correspondence, written in their hands, will give proof enough of the terror those men have bestowed upon this town. They grew careless when my maid managed to steal these letters—but I also believe the letters are the reason for the threats._

_Dear reader, hide this evidence until you are certain you can find someone of entire trust, someone with great connections but a kind heart. I believe Wilson has shut Hayes down to the rest of Angloa, however, he has managed that—bribing other officials wouldn't surprise me. I hope you will take whatever action you deem necessary. People shouldn't have to take food out of their children's mouths so that this proud captain and blasted mayor can live in luxury they do not deserve._

_Wishing you luck,_

_Lucas Ridge._

He had, of course, already known it was Wilson, after having read the correspondence between the captain and the mayor. Wilson was the root cause of it all. He had to be bribing a few choice people in order to keep his little kingdom running smoothly. Cullen had already sent him a letter of warning, hoping it would make the mayor slip up. But, as of yet, the only thing Wilson had done was to relocate once more to town, surrounding himself with his personal guard and throwing soirées almost every night. In that way, the mayor thought the masked man wouldn't seek him out when surrounded by people.

* * *

Alice practically threw herself into Bella's embrace as she entered the Masen townhouse. Both women looked like they had not slept for the whole night. Alice had heavy bags under her eyes and a pale complexion, made worse by parched lips and jittery countenance.

Bella looked better in appearance, but she was restless, her gaze flighty, her thoughts jumbled. Whenever she closed her eyes, she was reminded of Cullen's presence in her chamber, his sudden change in character right before leaving. His emerald orbs threw her off the most. She knew who he was, she had met him before, without the mask and in the light of day. Bella had a recollection of the same eyes staring down at her, but the flighty mind would not cooperate.

She had ridden to the Masen's in the family coach the very morning of Cullen's nocturnal escapade. They were supposed to dine together that evening, but it had, for obvious reasons, been canceled.

As she suspected, the event was already hopping from mouth to mouth. But one would not expect less of such a gossipy town as Hayes. The mere fact that half of the town had been awakened by the patrols and gunshots only spurred more on the constant flow of conversation about him.

Alice had dressed hastily, as much was obvious the moment Bella laid eyes on her. The mint green close bodied gown had been pinned in place with little care and the white shawl covering the upper part of her bosom for modesty was askew. Black curls cascaded past her shoulders, partly gathered at the top, away from her face. But Alice had not, as she usually did, put her mass of curls up.

Bella had a simple white muslin gown with a turquoise sash. She had dressed hastily, wishing to ride to the Masens and see how they faired after Cullen's little stunt. It was obvious the family was shaken.

"My dearest Bella!" Alice began with a rushed and rough voice. "Come, come," she urged her into the parlor where the others were taking their morning tea or coffee. The only one absent was Carlisle.

"Miss Swan," Esmeralda said, getting up to greet the young woman.

"Lady Masen, I needed to come over and see that you were all well. I…heard the news that it was at your house where Cullen had been sighted," she said, giving the Baroness a quick kiss in greeting on the cheek.

"We…we are quite well, Isabella," Esmeralda confided.

Jasper Hale poured Bella a cup of coffee, a brew she had not tried much but found strangely alluring. She was shown to the sofa, sitting next to Edward Masen. He looked as if he was about to doze off at any moment.

"Sgt. Thompson came into our house in the early hours of the morning and had all rooms searched," she explained as she made herself comfortable next to Edward. The moment she sat down, he jerked awake, alerted and alarmed.

"Oh, heaven spare me, Miss Swan. I thought you to be that blackguard," he drawled, his voice groggy with sleep.

Bella sent him a glance and a reassuring smile. "I cannot imagine the stress you must all have gone through," she said with sympathy. Bella felt bad she had not tried to seek Carlisle Masen out herself and tried to get the letter without Cullen interfering. But she had promised both him and Jacob that she would not involve herself anymore. Cullen had not mentioned anything about the family sighting him the previous night, but from their unsettled state, they must have done so.

"Emmett fought him, Bella!" Alice blurted out. "He was just going over it."

"Indeed, Mr. McCarty?" Bella asked befuddled.

"I say, had one of the footmen not missed him, we should have been rid of that menace once and for all," Edward snapped with indignation. "I still believe we should allow the captain to place some sentinels here, in case he should return."

Emmett ignored Edward, making it clear the dandy had been repeating himself the entire morning. "Aye, and I have never fought anything like him. It is a style unlike I have ever seen."

"Did you manage to deduce more about this man?" Bella asked.

Emmett looked as worn out as Alice. "I thought myself fighting the most seasoned man of battle I've ever stumbled upon. He did not fight for sport—a simple duel amongst gentlemen. That man knew what I was going to do before doing it. He knew how to read my expressions, the twitch in my hands and my footwork. He fought a battle indeed," Emmett muttered.

"Really now, dearest, you are only sour because Cullen bested you," Rosalie McCarty said, sipping her tea and playing with the pale pink skirt of her taffeta gown.

"But there is one thing I did reveal about him," Emmett retorted. "He is left-handed, probably the reason why it was so hard fighting against him. Fencing a left-handed man when you are right-handed is always difficult."

Bella placed down the cup and pressed her lips together as her nostrils flared slightly. The previous night, when Cullen had been in her chamber and moved around there, reaching out, he had favored his _right_ hand. And, as she thought about it, he had done so on previous encounters. Indeed, should not a left-handed man favor his left hand if that were the case?

Or, maybe, Cullen held enough skill to fight both with his left and his right hand? She heard a small snort come from Edward Masen, sitting next to her.

"They say that left-handed men are the spawns of a demon," he stated in his thin voice.

She had glanced over at him, sitting tall with a slight slouch in his shoulders, his chin high in the air as ever. But his cravat was unkempt as if he had as thrown in on hastily. It made for a more normal posture in him. He only had on his beige waistcoat and dark trousers, not yet dressed to face the day, she suspected.

Mr. Masen must have noted her regarding him, for he turned her way, placing his attention on her.

Bella swallowed the coffee hard and a coughing fit claimed her as the liquid settled wrongly in her throat. She blinked through the tears as she tried to control herself, feeling a hand slap her upper back to aid with the liquid. Bella took a shaky deep breath as she steadied herself, her face red, her eyes shedding tears from the strain. She saw it as a momentary God-send when the others rushed to her, worrying for her well-being. Alice was soon by her side, massaging her back as Bella breathed deeply.

"I think we are all still a bit weary from last night," Jasper Hale laughed nervously, trying to lighten the mood. It seemed to be working, for the rest joined in.

But Bella could not.

She was caught by a set of peculiar eyes that no longer looked at her. A set of intense orbs the color of the rolling hills outside of Hayes.

Emerald orbs.

Eyes she had always perceived as dull and glazed over with boredom. But it had only been an act, she realized now. Indeed, the first time she noted there was something peculiar about those eyes had been the day April had thrown her off her saddle and Edward Masen had rushed to her aid. And the second time she had noted something peculiar about those eyes had been when Edward Masen had snuck into her chamber the previous night to escape the soldiers.

Bella stared at the fop, and she _knew_ without a doubt that he was Cullen. The moment she had realized his brilliant guise as Edward Masen, she knew.

"Infernal man," Bella murmured furiously under her breath. He had had quite a good time making fun of them all, hadn't he?

"What was that, madam?" he asked with an arched eyebrow, turning to her.

Suddenly Bella grew rather smug. Aye, he must have gotten quite the laugh with her. Well, two could play that game, she thought. She needed to recollect herself after the sudden and quite shocking realization. Yet Bella knew it would be some time before she could thoroughly digest it.

"Oh, nothing, Mr. Masen," she answered as a smirk started curling on her lips while she rose the cup of coffee to her face. "Nothing at all, I assure you."

* * *

**A/N: I also enjoy the Bella/Cullen scenes ;)**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	23. Chapter 23

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 23_

In the Swan gardens, few eyes would be able to scrutinize Major Collins as he strolled the walkway with Miss Isabella Swan. It was good weather; the rains had all but ceased and spring was bursting at the seams. The gardens had, little by little, regained their color after the brush of winter, and Bella soon knew that she'd be able to once more venture into Raven's Grove.

"James," Bella said, blushing at the familiarity they treated one another with. She held onto his arm as they walked in relative silence, taking in the birdsong and stillness of the morning, escaping the frowns of the servants and her father. The only one who had been civil to Collins had been Renée Swan.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, deep in thought.

Bella stopped him, both standing on the gravel, the bushes sharp and stark with small buds of green made up the canopy. "I am not blind to…to how people treat you in Hayes since I returned from Zafra."

The tall soldier turned her way, the set of his mouth firm, his blond hair pulled away from his sharp and defined features. Icy blue eyes regarded her for a moment as if in deep thought.

"It is my duty to command the garrison and the Royal Guard before anything. I must sometimes sacrifice my relationship with the people for that endeavor, can you understand that?"

"They say…" she began, uncomfortable at having to even mention it. But a part of her needed to know what Collins' agenda was. "That Captain Forster has apprehended several men."

"They are people suspected of making up a part of Cullen's band," Collins defended.

Bella frowned. "Five men have been taken into the garrison and gallows are being built in the square, James. Yet, I do not hear that a trial is in place…not even a hearing."

"It is easy to see the world in black and white. These men have been discovered with placing frightening and threatening messages for Forster and me in the garrison and even for the mayor. They have also been giving food to the rebels in Raven's Grove."

Bella turned to watch the weeping willow, brought back to that fateful encounter almost a year ago. Reminded that it had, in fact, been Edward Masen all the time, irked her further.

"If you send those men to the gallows, Hayes will not stand for it," she warned. "James, the situation is escalating. Already some northern towns have revolted and been subdued violently by their local militia. If things don't get better here, Hayes could end up the same."

In northern Angloa, some towns, backed by a rogue general named Harvey Adams, had gone against their local government in protest, especially against the Royal Guard who took advantage of their position of power. Alas, those same towns had been subdued by the militia sent by the king and his advisors, effectively silencing any protests and incarcerating almost a third of the people who had been caught protesting. The situation in Hayes looked to be heading in the same direction.

Collins stepped in and took her hands in his. "Will you trust me? Those men will not die, that I can promise you," he vowed.

Bella grew secure in his promise and felt that Collins proved himself. He was caught in a dangerous situation. She suspected Forster had some hold over him, which was why he had not been able to speak out or even stop him before.

"I believe we must head back," she said, noting her father standing by the end of the gardens, watching them with a frown upon his face.

"Do you have another engagement?" Collins asked.

"I am taking a carriage promenade with Mr. and Mrs. Hale and Mr. Masen," she said beaming. "The first of the season!"

They started moving toward her father. "Mr. Masen?" Collins mumbled. "And, pray, do you find his company to be agreeable?"

Bella turned with her eyebrows reaching her hairline and a smile etching its way onto her lips. "You cannot seriously be _jealous_ of Mr. Masen!" she laughed, making Collins blush.

"I merely wished to inquire—"

"Nonsense, you consider Mr. Masen a rival," she laughed. Yet, deep inside, Bella thought her heart might stop. What if Collins suspected Edward Masen somehow had ties with Cullen? That would not do at all. He had done a great job in building up the fop, but she realized a slip was all it took for someone to realize he was Cullen. Yes, Bella had spent much more time in both Cullen's and Masen's presence, she had a keen mind for details and piecing things together. But if she could figure out who hid behind the mask, she suspected others could as well, unless Edward took care.

"Isabella, I have the firmest belief that Edward Masen would not steal you away from me. Indeed, if such a thing were to happen, I'd leave the army and the Royal Guard," he blinked, joining in on her laugh.

"Bella," her father said with a frown, nearing them. "Mrs. Hale and the rest are already out in the carriage, I suggest you rush out to them," he commanded. Bella nodded and turned to Collins.

"Thank you for the promenade, it was refreshing," she smiled. Collins bowed and kissed the back of her hand. The young girl gathered the soft mint green skirts of her dress and walked past her father with a knowing smile.

The moment she was gone, Charles Swan straightened himself before Collins. "She is a lovely girl, Major Collins," he said awkwardly, with a hint of irritation to his voice.

Collins straightened out the dark green jacket of his uniform, still watching her leave. "That she is, sir."

"Sometimes, she does not know what is best for her," the father continued, placing his hands behind his back.

"Sir?" Collins furrowed his brow.

"I know what such intimate courtship eventually leads to. I want her to be happy, and while you make her smile now, I doubt it will remain that way in the future if things continue as they have with Hayes."

"With all due respect, Mr. Swan, I'd rather we not speak in riddles and be frank with each other," Collins said with a calm voice.

"You are thinking of making an offer of marriage to her," Charles stated. "That much is evident to me."

"I am, I have been for some time now."

"Then I must urge you, sir, to think again."

Collins' eyes darkened at such words, but he did not interrupt the gentleman before him.

"I do not believe a match between you and my daughter would be pertinent. She'd live removed from polite society after the scrutiny you are receiving from the townsfolk which, I must agree, I partake in. Your reign over Hayes equals more that of Forster's for each passing day—"

Collins shook his head and clenched his jaw. "I admire your daughter and believe she should make her _own_ decision. As for the rest, you shouldn't be speaking of things you do not understand, Mr. Swan," the major urged. When Charles did not retort, Collins placed the hat atop his head and bowed. "I shall see myself out, Mr. Swan. Good morning to you."

* * *

"Those men are innocent, and you know it, Forster," Collins gritted through his teeth. He faced the desk where the captain lounged with his feet on the table, leaning back in the chair. The morning sun burrowed in through the window facing east. Forster had unbuttoned the top of his green jacket, playing with a small knife in his hand. He had great big circles under his eyes and his face was sunken-in from lack of sleep. He spent most nights looking for Cullen and going over who might be behind the mask.

What most took one in about the captain, however, was the big marking on his forehead. Ever since that fateful night at The Laughing Goose, Forster had been covering his forehead with a bandage, but it was exposed now, showing the scarring: the mark Cullen had left behind. A great big 'X' extended itself over the middle part of his forehead, still red and scarring. The slashes Cullen had delivered onto the captain's face would forever remain, constantly reminding the soldier of their encounter whenever he looked into the mirror.

"Of course they are, major." Forster looked bored, unmoved by his superior officer. "But their households have been known to provide the rebels with food during the winter and they have been caught leaving those pesky and pathetic letters here…well, that is what we will tell the townspeople. We must make an example of this."

"I cannot believe what I am hearing!" Collins growled. "You would hang five innocent young men? I will not allow—"

Forster placed his feet firmly on the ground and leaned over his desk. "Ah, but James. My good friend James; you do not get a say in this."

Collins pointed an accusing finger at him. "I do not care if you reveal who I really am," he shouted. "I will _not_ let you do this," he said, gesturing with his finger on every word.

"I knew you'd say that," Forster sighed, his gray eyes digging into Collins'. "_He_ thinks it's due time you met him," he said. "What a coincidence that you should bring this issue up."

"Meet who?"

"Corporal!" Forster shouted. A lancer rushed into the room.

"Captain?"

"He may come in," the captain said, moving to stand up. "He will make you see reason, Collins," Forster smiled.

Collins grew confused as to what Forster was referring to when, a few minutes later, the door opened, and he heard heavy footsteps. He turned around and was met by Mayor Wilson, standing polished as ever in fine garments and a wig atop his head with a black hat over it. His pudgy form pressed against the poor buttons of his gray coat that tried to desperately hold it together.

"Mr. Wilson?" Collins asked, astonished.

Wilson gave him a wink. "Come, come, Major Collins, be seated. No protocol on my account," he chuckled. "Forster you fiend, it looks like you've scared the major half to death!" the mayor exclaimed jovially.

He walked up to the desk and to the seat in which Forster had been sitting in previously.

Collins looked perplexed from Forster to Wilson, finally understanding that the two were in league. When he realized the mayor was the one protecting Forster, he paled as if he'd seen a ghost.

Wilson leaned forward. "I hear you have been protesting quite frequently against Captain Forster's decisions in running this garrison," he sighed. "I thought he'd spoken to you about this. You are a smart man, Collins. I was made to believe that the captain had worked out an understanding with you."

"Y-you have been the one ordering the taxations, the imprisonments—" Collins started.

Wilson put up a hand and shook his head. The mayor who had always appeared so friendly and approachable removed his mask and showed his true side. There was an emptiness and coldness in his eyes that unnerved Collins. A hunger for power and knowing that he had it all at the tip of his fingers. "Let us not get repetitive, my boy. These men need to be made an example of, my good Collins. I understand your protests, but the rebels have become a nuisance and we need to snuff them out. Making a statement is sometimes for the better good."

"I-I will not stand for this," Collins growled. "I do not care who knows about me, about what I did in Bordeaux!"

Wilson shook his head. "You are involved now, Collins. I still believe you could be an asset and partake in our operation. I know you, your type. I wouldn't have shown myself before you otherwise. You like power and wealth. That is why you cast aside that pesky past of yours and took the name of a dead officer. Collins, you chose a better life for yourself just as Forster and I have."

"I do not want power and riches, not like this," the major spat.

"Yet you did not hesitate when you changed uniforms with the real Captain Collins," Wilson remarked as he laced his fingers and rested his chin on them. Forster chuckled in the background, leaning with folded arms against the wall. "You did not exactly obtain your rank by normal means."

"I did not kill Collins for it," the major urged. "He was already dead when—" He stopped himself, reminded of that horrid day, of the cannon fire, of the smoke, of the cries of pain and fear.

"As I said, you have a taste for power, we all do," Wilson said. "Denying it would be lying to yourself. I am not asking you to kill those boys with your bare hands, let Forster do his. Collins, you will not have to lift a finger," Wilson assured him with an eerie smile. "Forster will do the dirty work, isn't that right, Forster?" Wilson chuckled, looking back at the captain.

"Very much so, sir," Forster smiled.

Collins rushed up and slammed both hands down on the desk, leaning forward to meet Wilson face to face. He had never been so disgusted with a human being as then. Maybe it was because he already had made up a picture of the mayor. Being let down thus broke him apart. "It ends here, for both of you. I care not if you drag me down in the muck and filth. But I will not bloody my hands with this!" Collins growled.

Wilson's clear eyes blackened with each second that passed. Forster's office settled into a suffocating silence and the golden sunlight that filtered into the room lost its warmth. Collins felt cold and naked under such a stare, barred before the mayor, standing before a demon from hell. There was no trace of humanity in Wilson's eyes, only death and such a frightening void that it produced a cold sweat in Collins.

"Then Miss Swan will have another unfortunate accident, and this time, she will not recover from it," the mayor spoke slowly, a cruel smile curling on his lips.

The blood in his veins froze to ice. Collins' hands curled into fists. He had no retort for what he had just heard.

"You wish to build a life here, with the woman you so publicly care for. I am very happy that you wish to stay in Hayes. But some rules need to be set and followed," Wilson started. "If you do not do as I ask, Isabella Swan will suffer for it."

Collins' eyes had glazed over with unshed tears, trapped by his conflicting emotions. "You are a monster," he stammered in a low and guttural voice, loaded with emotion, fear, and anguish.

"I am an opportunist, Major Collins," Wilson settled back. "Play your part in this affair and you will be greatly rewarded. I will, of course, not mention what would happen to both you and Miss Swan if my involvement in this were to come out. I do not believe I need to paint a clear picture of the suffering you'd both endure."

The major straightened up. He knew he'd be watched as of this moment. He knew there'd be no one to trust in. Because there was no way of knowing just who Wilson had in his pockets.

"I think it will be entertaining, don't you?" Wilson mumbled. "Can the great Cullen free _five_ men from the garrison? I think he will find this challenge the most difficult one yet. Or," he turned around to the captain. "What say you Forster?" he exclaimed.

"He should return to the grave from which he came," the captain fumed, the thirst for blood emerging as he thought about the personal vendetta he had with the man in black.

* * *

"What a lovely day, I never understand how one can forget the delights of spring!" Alice exclaimed as the horses trotted down the small road into Raven's Grove. Bella had grown mesmerized by their ride, taken in by the delightful April weather.

"How tiresome, dear sister. Spring remains the same, tis your mind that forgets it each year and paints it up better than it is," Edward Masen drawled.

"Hush, Mr. Masen, do not downplay the delights of the greenery as it returns. I am as taken by it as Mrs. Hale and shall not have you ruin this wonderful moment," Bella retorted playfully as she breathed deeply. Her beloved forest beckoned her. In a few weeks, she'd be able to take April for a ride and bask in the light that the sun offered.

Edward scoffed but kept from saying much more.

"Raven's Grove is indeed a beauty," Jasper Hale agreed.

They had all gathered for the promenade. Alice had surprised Bella with a basket. They were going for the first picknick of the season and it brought a bright smile upon the brunette's features.

She knew the perfect spot and directed Joseph to take them there, skillfully managing the horses as they trotted down the road. Bella kept herself busy, not putting much attention on the fact that Edward Masen was sitting next to her—the same Edward Masen who would occasionally dress up as a ghost and play pranks on the Royal Guard of Hayes.

It was still hard to think Masen and Cullen were the same person. At certain moments she'd doubt herself as she saw the flash of his green eyes, dulled, bored. But, at times, when he believed no one watched, she saw the intensity in them.

They all ended up in a green meadow with sprouting flowers in yellows, reds, and whites covering it. The blankets were placed out, together with the contents of the straw baskets. Soon, they were eating an array of small cakes, cheeses, charcuterie, and drinking sweet wines. They spoke and laughed leisurely together, with little care for the problems that had been going on in their country and town for the last few months. Bella felt herself relax with people she could—for the first time—truly call her friends.

Alice and Jasper got up to take a stroll under the clear blue sky. Alice held her parasol high and directed her husband to a small cluster of trees. Bella would not be nosy enough nor naïve enough to imagine what whispers of affection and kisses were taking place there. Her heart grew warm at the companionship between the two.

"You must be uncomfortable, sir, sitting so stiffly upon this blanket," Bella Swan remarked, still not taking her eyes off from the meadow. Edward sat straight up, his nose up in the air as he sipped on a glass of wine. Joseph tended to the horses in the distance. It was only them and their conversation.

"A gentleman does not _lounge_," he answered with a bothered air.

She faced him with a half-smile. "Words of wisdom indeed, Mr. Masen," she said with a most profound air, mesmerized by his sentence. "To think this is the domain in which Cullen roams," she sighed, turning back once more and regarded nature.

"Does it…frighten you, miss?" he asked, slowly, casually. Bella smirked with her face turned away from him.

"Frighten me?" she asked.

Edward Masen's powdered visage leaned in slightly. "I am not a gossip, Miss Swan. To be talking about thieves and bandits so casually is beneath anyone of us. But—that being said—does Cullen frighten you?" he asked again.

"He does not," she answered, turning to face him. An arched eyebrow followed her statement.

"One would think that, after everything he has done in town, he'd at least—"

"I admire him."

Edward Masen stopped speaking. For the first time, she had managed to shut down his drawling dialogue and catch him by surprise.

"Admire him? An outlaw?"

"Well, I admire his feats, I did not say I admire the person. I imagine he could be quite vexing if I ever met him…in person," she chuckled.

"In what…way?" the man next to her asked. Edward seemed genuinely curious to know her answer. Of course, she knew that _he_ _knew_ that Bella Swan had already met Cullen several times.

"Oh, Mr. Masen, vexing in the most profound way! I imagine he thinks himself superior in the knowledge he holds over Hayes. I imagine he fancies himself an excellent fighter when most of his clashes with the blade could no doubt be attributed to cheap tricks and the element of surprise." She kept her regard away from him but saw him out of the corner of her eye. On the outside, he did not seem affected, but Bella saw the emerald orbs faintly burn in a familiar fashion. They gleamed and glittered much like they would beneath the mask.

"And I imagine he'd be uncivil—you know—as most outlaws are," she leaned forward to say. "A general nuisance," she chuckled.

Edward Masen, who was usually so quick to answer her with a witty or dry remark, remained silent.

"Of course, were I to compare him to someone like, say, Major Collins, he'd never stand a chance," she continued.

She could feel it now, his eyes digging into her in that familiar way. Edward had to restrain himself, mentally chastising himself into the role of the fop. But the more Bella Swan said, the more maddening it became to sit by the side and not defend himself against her remarks.

"I did not know you perceived him thusly," he answered with a strangled voice.

Bella's chocolate orbs regarded him. How naked he felt under those brown eyes as they pierced into his very soul—captivated him in an enthralling prison where she was the jailor. Edward's heart stopped; he felt his breath leave his chest, the sweats running cold under the ridiculous frilly clothes and starched cravat. She did not know the power she held over him. She couldn't possibly.

"That is how I've always perceived Cullen," she stated blatantly. "And have you not made similar remarks about him?" she asked.

He had but having them coming from her lips was like diving into scalding hot water. He thought they had some sort of understanding as Cullen and Swan. It seemed not. She was as displeased with him as Cullen as she was with him as Masen. And Bella Swan kept getting looped in by Collins.

It was always Collins.

Edward could not help as he gritted his teeth. "Touché, Miss Swan."

Alice and Jasper returned, walking hand in hand. "There are so many flowers growing at the far end of this meadow!" Alice exclaimed, presenting a small bouquet of wildflowers.

Bella reached out to take it, inhaling their scent. "I believe the forest shall soon be rid of this grayness and these rains," she sighed. "Maybe the coming of spring will make Hayes joyful once more," she whispered to herself.

"Having those poor young men in Forster's prison freed could be a start," Jasper interceded.

"They are making no effort to hide the gallows that are being built," Alice shivered.

Bella did not remove her eyes from the flowers in her hands. "Maybe," she trailed off. "Maybe Cullen will save them." A pair of emerald eyes followed her sternly with their gaze. She knew it was a difficult feat—saving five men from the garrison. Cullen would have to outdo himself to manage it.

"Hayes would not stand for it, should these men be hanged." Jasper sat down next to her. "Forster must realize as much."

"Captain Forster may be many things, but I do not believe he understands the concept of consequence," Edward drawled.

"Then you disagree with him?" Alice murmured in astonishment.

Her brother arched an arrogant eyebrow her way. "Why yes, sister dear. Why on earth would I ever agree with a man who openly misuses his power to do as he pleases?"

His words caught them all by surprise for their uncharacteristic way. They showed that Edward Masen had more care than he'd let on. He did care for those poor farmers. He almost looked disgusted by what Forster was about to do. Bella's lips parted as she placed the flowers to the side. She had been teasing him without thinking how much such news had to be bearing down on him.

"I am not completely soulless," he whispered, looking off to the side. The drawl was faint, the arrogance gone.

Jasper cleared his voice to get rid of the uncomfortable air that had lowered about them. "Shall we head back?" he asked.

Bella and Edward's eyes crossed. She knew he would try his best to get those men out. An impossible feat. Now that she knew who hid beneath the mask, the young woman couldn't help but worry for his safety. His mission would be a dangerous one. Yet, she would pray for his safety. Maybe even help him, if it came to that.

* * *

Lucy spat to the side, wrinkling her nose and placing her hands firmly on her hips as she watched the gallows rise from the ground, looming over the old square. They had been completed that very morning, and many of the Hayes inhabitants had gathered to watch the threatening presence of the wooden structure.

The noose swayed eerily in the wind.

A notice had been placed on the board next to the garrison. In one week, the five men would be hung publicly at dawn. They had not had a trial and wouldn't get one either. A warning was attached to the notice, stating that if anyone—like those five men and their families had—thought it pertinent to give any form of aid or support to Cullen and his rebels in Raven's Grove, they too would see the same fate.

Forster thought it would instill fear in the town and settle it down from the civil unrest it had been seeing. But Hayes was ready to burst into full revolt, and the captain was now ready to use the harshest force possible. With Wilson's protecting and pulling of strings, Hayes would stay isolated and in their control.

But they had been wrong. They had never counted on the one thing that might make their plan fail. What characterized Hayes was also what would help save it: gossip.

Gossip at its finest.

Rumors and whispers, jumping from mouth to mouth. All it took was some information to be spread by Jacob and Jonah through Friar Nathan, and within a few days, the working classes buzzed with the recent knowledge: that Lionel Wilson was corrupt and had been misusing his position of power. The whole truth was, of course, not out. Ridge and Haste's deaths remained suicides. But the beauty of gossip was that the rumors quickly could get out of hand and it was soon that many speculated if the lawyer had truly taken his own life. Strangest of all, however, was that—even if such speculations started leaking into the finer drawing rooms and salons of the richer households—it had still not reached the ears of Forster's soldiers or Wilson's spies. They remained oblivious to the rising tension against them; unable to see the danger they found themselves in at having been unmasked by the rebels of Raven's Grove.

That same night, as the last few soldiers left the tavern, some figures in deep hoods entered. With the aid of Isabella Swan and her connection to the tavern owner, Lucy Berg, several townspeople of confidence had been gathered to The Laughing Goose. They all thought Cullen himself might show, that they would catch a glimpse of him.

Instead, hopping in with great effort yet great determination, supporting himself with his son and a cane, Billy Black entered.

As soon as he entered, all stood up and clapped with silent acceptance on their harsh lined features. Billy Black had been the first man to publicly speak out against Forster and the first to dare stand up against the oppressor.

They all rose their cups to him. "Well met, Mr. Black!" they cheered. Lucy smirked as she leaned against her bar, passing a cup of spirits to him.

"On the house, Mr. Black," she nodded.

Having returned to Raven's Grove and into the fold of the rebels, Billy noted that they were quite celebrated by the townspeople—almost as much as Cullen. When he heard of the five young men who'd been caught, he had felt an unexplainable sadness and anger toward Forster. When he heard Wilson was also involved, he had felt his heart drop in his chest. He knew it to be risky, dangerous and foolish, but he wished to return to the town, talk with some good old friends and hear from them how they perceived the situation unfold. With the support of his son and Lucy's tavern, some choice friends had been alerted that Billy wished to meet and speak with them. What he wasn't ready on, was that more people had flocked to The Laughing Goose when they heard Mr. Black and the rebels would be there. It was a chance to toast to their health, ask how they faired in the Grove and inquire about Cullen.

The dimly lit tavern was filled to the brim. Chairs scraped to let Billy and his entourage pass. Faces lit up at the presence of the old man who had defied a tyrant and lived to tell the tale. Billy Black stood in line, but he was approachable, representing them, not some idea; a shadow in the dark.

The brass chandeliers hung with filled candles, the wax dropping occasionally. The barmaids rushed around as mead was in high demand. The conversation flowed and, on the tables, men rested their mugs, making circles as the mead spilled over, leaving ring-marks in the wood.

Billy looked around himself, taking it all in. It was his Hayes, the town he had fallen in love with. The Laughing Goose represented the candor, the goodness and hard-working people which he called his friends and neighbors.

Jacob saw the glitter in his father's eyes, the emotion spreading across his features.

"Is all well, father?"

Billy kept looking at the laughter and conversation. Despite the hardships, despite what Forster put them through, the people of Hayes lived on with a smile on their lips. For him, theirs was the truest courage of all.

"Never better, son," Billy whispered. "Despite what they've heard about Wilson, they are not crushed by such news."

One of the nearby men, Robert, who worked as stablemaster in the Swan household, turned to Billy and his small entourage. "What do you plan to do about Wilson?" he asked in a loud voice for all to hear. The buzzing conversation died down as more turned to Billy with similar questions.

"Are the rumors about him really true?"

"Did he really kill Ridge and Haste?"

Jacob, Jonah, and Billy shared looks. They knew they might get such questions and were ready to answer them. "You speak, father," Jacob nodded. "You were always good at that," he blinked.

"They'd not wish to hear an old man—"

"Aye, we would!" said some nearby young men. "We'd hear you speak, Mr. Black!"

Billy sighed and rolled his eyes, emptying the last of the mead into his thirsty mouth. He felt the adrenaline mix with the endorphins in his system. He guessed part of it was due to the anticipation felt in the large dining room, part was due to his own intoxication.

He stood up. All eyes rested on the man in a shabby and wrinkly white shirt with a dirtied dark blue coat thrown over it. Billy had seen better days, but the sparkle in his eyes and the pleasant line of his features told the men there that he had something in store for them.

"I know you have questions," Billy began, looking at the expectant faces. He knew to be careful in what he said; not to make too difficult promises. He knew that his words would circulate through the entirety of Hayes up until the supposed execution and he had a mind to measure his speech.

"Let me just begin by saying that I admire each and every one of you who has come here tonight. It takes courage to live as you have, under a man such as Forster!" He pointed at them, leaning forward, looking at the expecting smiles, the gleaming faces. "We face hardships, and we will face many more before this nightmare is over," he admitted. Billy nodded pensively. "Yes, Forster has taken five of those who would help us residing in Raven's Grove. But he will not get away with such acts."

"Hear, hear!" they all exclaimed.

"We are proud Cadherrans, proud citizens of this beautiful province, this beautiful town. We know the turbulence that takes place on the continent. But we are not France, we shall not let fear and seething hatred send us down the same path," he warned. Billy kept the calm and collected presence as he spoke.

"Men like Forster will always come and go, and we must learn to deal with them, not by unnecessary violence, lest we end up with the army at our doorsteps and half of Hayes behind bars. That is not what we in Raven's Grove wish, or what Cullen wishes. What you have heard of Lionel Wilson is indeed true."

The interior of the tavern dimmed further as they savored the final name he had spoken. Billy continued. "Yes, Lionel Wilson," he affirmed. "The man who has been getting rich by overtaxing us all. For, my good friends, wherever he is; getting drunk in Wessport, visiting the royal court in Safeira or traveling the world, Lord Newton has _not_ been taking our livelihood, our daily bread. It has been taken by a corrupt administration, run by two men. Two men that think they are above us. Two men that we must prove are not gods, but mere mortals and deserving of punishment!"

His words instilled a silence so severe in the tavern that it could be cut with a butter knife.

"I stand here before you to confirm _who_ has been souring your lives these past few years. I stand here because you are believed to be true men of Hayes and Cadherra. We must not rebel and revolt as they did in the north, we must not go to the streets as a mob and topple our local government. We must use sense and reason. Mr. Ridge was a good man, a man of the law, a man of justice. Mr. Ridge was killed for standing up to a bully and Mr. Ridge shall be avenged as he would have liked, by using the law, my friends!" Billy Black said to them.

The tavern widened its eyes, processing his words and what he had just confirmed. Mr. Ridge had indeed been killed.

"We cannot take down Wilson or Forster unless it is by force," Robert said, a sinking feeling of being trapped settled in the bottom of his belly.

Billy Black pierced him with his black orbs. "How do you know that?"

"I…it is the most common knowledge to all that the mayor of each provincial town is elected by the provincial council made up by the most powerful men of that province. They will not accept a petition from us common folks to remove Wilson without proof. And even if we remove him, someone like him will take his place, unless we take him down with force and make those pesky lords keep away from us and leave with their tail between their legs!" Robert shouted.

The others cheered, but Billy shook his head. "An uncalled act of violence against either Forster or Wilson will result in grand bloodshed."

"Then we are trapped," another said.

"We are not trapped," Jacob interceded. He had stood up next to his father. "I trust in Cullen, and that he will find a way to expose Wilson for what he truly is to the rest of the world. We have started something, broken against what we supposed was normal. Men like Wilson and Forster will never again rule here in Hayes."

"Is that a promise?" Robert asked. He wished for those words to be true, they all did. But promising such a grand feat would be nearly impossible.

"Why do you think Ridge was killed?" Jacob asked, taking a step toward the stablemaster. A deathly silence befell the inn. Lucy knew the importance of those notes and ledgers in her chambers all of a sudden, she knew that she needed Cullen to take them from her as soon as possible. However, she would still only entrust them to him.

"Ridge was onto them," Billy said. "I will not reveal much more, other than that we have some substantial proof against these two."

Twinkling eyes widened with the realization of what that meant. The men before them hinted at Wilson being able to be taken down.

"We want to help," Robert said heatedly.

"You are already helping," Jacob said. "And now you must make sure there is not an uprising here in Hayes. Make sure that the townspeople are informed but do not take the matter into their own hands. Cullen has a plan to expose Wilson to Wessport and Safeira. You must trust in that."

"When the time comes, you will know, we will ask for you to join us," Billy filled in.

Chairs scraped and they all stood up in solidarity, their questions answered and their hearts expanding in their chests.

The Laughing Goose needed no more encouragement. All in there knew what their tasks were. Spreading the word would help unite the rest of Hayes. They started chanting, raising their drinks to the beamed ceiling. "Audeamus!"

* * *

"But you must do something, James or those men will _die_!" she cried as she hurried after him. Bella Swan had sought out James Collins at the garrison when word of the notice and the finished gallows reached her. She could still not believe he would not see reason.

She had happened upon him as he had ridden back from what appeared to be a patrol. Bella had rushed up to him with an upset look and the moment Collins realized what it was that she aimed to speak of, he had soured and rushed to the garrison to avoid disappointing her.

"It is complicated, Isabella!" he said sternly her way.

She ignored the looks they received from the pedestrians as she quarreled with him. "It is not! It is very simple! These men have not even had a trial," she cried out, trying to stop him. "H-how can you merely say that—"

"Do not get involved, Miss Swan. These men have had their hearing and enough proof has allowed Captain Forster to make a difficult decision," the major growled as he turned to her.

Bella stood stunned, her mouth open in complete disbelief. Many now stopped and whispered amongst themselves.

"James, you…you wouldn't let this happen, would you?" she asked with a shaking voice.

The blond major looked at her in defeat. A wall had come up between them and he felt trapped. Yet he wanted her in his life. He figured he loved her, he wanted to marry her, despite so many thinking it now impertinent. But from the way she stared at him, he wondered if there was any possibility left for that in her eyes.

"You must understand that the law and justice cannot follow our own personal whims—"

Bella recoiled in distress, a look of disappointment and something akin to disgust touching her features. "Then the justice and law you speak of are wrong," she growled. "You throw around that word so carelessly, to use whenever it befits you lot. It is not _justice_, not the same that Mr. Ridge fought for," she started. Bella wanted to shout at him, utter her disappointment. But she remained composed. Yet, her eyes were glazed over with unshed tears and his heart broke in two when he saw her let-down expression etching into her eyes.

He had lost her.

"Isabella," he tried, sighing as he neared her.

"I hope Cullen saves them all," she sneered as she recoiled. "And makes fools out of you."

Collins' demeanor darkened. "Should he come, he will be shot upon sight and killed, miss. We are not taking any more chances with that man."

She shook her head. "I do not know how I could have been so blind to you," she growled.

Bella Swan turned from him and walked away. Collins stared at that picture for a moment; the woman who turned her back to him. He thought he'd fall to the ground from the pains it provoked him. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth in defeat.

* * *

**A/N: Another chapter up ;)**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	24. Chapter 24

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 24_

"Lorraine, I need help with my—"

The maid hid her face from her mistress, fidgeting with her hands, her shoulders shaking, her lip trembling.

"Lorraine?"

"Tis nothing, miss," Lorraine answered in a thick voice. It was evident to anyone that she had been weeping silently. She had found refuge in a corner of the kitchen where few maids frequented as it held the salted and cured meats. Bella had asked Dory if she'd seen her and simply been pointed to the closed door.

Bella walked up to her.

"Miss, you'll ruin your dress if you come in here!"

"Nonsense!" Bella pulled up the skirt of her dress and sat on a stool next to the other woman who dried her tears. Lorraine's face was puffy and her eyes red. "Do…do you know one of those farmers who have been sentenced?" she asked carefully.

It was enough to make Lorraine sob once more. "My brother, Martin," Lorraine stammered, hiding her face in her hands.

Bella placed a comforting hand on her back. "I am sorry," she whispered. "I never thought Forster…or Collins would go this far."

"In four days, they will hang them, and for what? For giving food to some starving men in a forest?" she hiccupped. "Oh miss," the maid said, turning to face Bella. "What should I do? I cannot let them kill my brother!"

"I went to Collins. I…was blind to him, thought him above all of this, able to right Forster's wrongs. But…" Bella looked away and stood up. "There is only one we can rely on right now, and hope that he succeeds in rescuing them like he has with the others."

"Five men, Miss Swan. I do not think even a man like Cullen will be able to carry through such a feat," Lorraine sobbed.

"There is little else that can be done." She regretted having said those words. Lorraine's tears struck a heavy blow and Bella realized no words of comfort could be given. Only her presence and solidarity in the matter was all she could offer.

Dory found them and soon took over so that Bella could leave for the Stanley tea gathering. She had no mind for it. For even if the day was bright and full of life, she felt dull inside. She had no wish to sit before her friends and have them watch her with a look saying, 'I told you so'. Her argument with Collins had been public, and she had made it clear that their acquaintance and relation was terminated.

But she still braved her way on April's back, letting her horse trot through the streets. Another telltale sign of spring was witnessed as Mr. Simmons sat in the old square, next to General Cullen's statue, playing chess with himself. She gave him a meek wave of the hand and hurried her mare on.

April took her to the townhouse, and she was let into the perfumed and frilly parlor. The air was thick with fragrance and her eyes became overexposed to the invading pastel colors. Jessica Stanley sat with Miss Moore and Webber by her side. They were more subdued than usual. Alice and Rosalie sat speaking with some other young women. It was not the usual flowing conversation, or lengthy monologues produced by Miss Stanley that Bella was used to.

"Might have I missed something, or am I late to a funeral?" Bella mumbled as she stepped in. They arched their eyebrows but ignored her rude statement.

"How good of you to come, Miss Swan," Jessica acknowledged. The strong dislike between both women had waned. While Jessica still held some distaste for Isabella, she had grown to tolerate her.

Bella glided to sit down next to Alice, receiving a steaming cup of brewed coffee from a maid. The young brunette took notice that she was not served tea like the rest. "Had you made it aware from the start, I would have offered another beverage," Jessica added, taking a delicate sip with a lifted pinky finger.

"I did not wish to cause offense," Bella said. But then she forced a smile that felt more genuine the longer it graced her features. "Thank you, Miss Stanley," she said.

"They say Mr. Wilson is throwing his biggest party yet at the end of May; to welcome summer," Angela Webber interrupted in an urge to change the subject. She grew a sheepish look when all ladies eyed her.

"Dear, he has been throwing gatherings every night for the past fortnight," Miss Moore said, putting in an extra spoonful of sugar in her drink.

Another young woman, with reddish blonde hair and a frilly white dress with red trim, leaned forward, her freckles standing out on an ashen face. "Have you not heard the rumors about Mr. Wilson?" she whispered, almost giddy, slightly afraid. She grew more ashen.

"What rumors?" asked Rosalie. "Does he have gout again?" she wondered with little interest.

"No!" the other said. "Rumors that he might have…committed tax fraud?" the redhead said, carefully. "That he has not in fact been keeping away from Forster due to fear of him, rather because it is said they _work_ together."

Bella spilled her cup of coffee all over herself and nearly dropped the porcelain on the floor. Her entire dress had a big mark of the dark brew as she hastened to stand up, her skin white as a ghost's.

"Wilson?!" she nearly spat with such ire that she thought she'd strangle whoever she could get her hands on.

"Miss Swan, restrain yourself!" Jessica shouted. "Smithers, clean-up!" she motioned to the servant as he ran over to them.

Bella seethed with anger and disgust. How on earth could kind old Wilson, one of her father's absolute best friends, be involved? Had he also prompted the killing of Ridge and Haste?

"It's only a rumor," Alice reassured her, pressing a damp napkin to the muslin, alas with little success, for the fabric remained equally stained.

Edward had to know, Bella guessed. Maybe even Jacob. And for how long? If Edward knew he must have already threatened the mayor, which would explain the constant wave of people Wilson surrounded himself with. Wilson had always fled to town the moment any sightings of Cullen were mentioned. He sought out the big flock, imagining he would find security amongst them. For a fortnight he had been hosting constant gatherings. Thus, Edward must have known, maybe Jacob too! Her father had spent much time in the presence of that man! She took a deep breath. Was her father in any danger?

"Bella, calm down," Alice now whispered. The golden orbs searched her chocolate ones with a worried look in them. Alice frowned. "What is it?" she asked. They had gone to the corner of the room on the pretense that Bella needed to clean up.

"Alice," Bella stammered. "I…I do not think they are rumors."

"But not Wilson…not _the_ Wilson?" her friend asked.

Bella took Alice's hands in her own. "There is much I should confide to you, things I have held back. But one of them is that if Wilson is the man I think he is, we must keep away from him!"

It dawned on them that such a feat was impossible. "We cannot, Bella. It would be strange if we did, we'd attract attention. Everyone else is treating this as a rumor."

She despaired more and more by the minute. Bella Swan thought her nerves would collapse on her. Was this how Lucas Ridge had felt at his end? A part of her wished she had never gotten involved. But another part, much stronger, knew there was no turning back now.

"I must go," she murmured.

"Where?"

The French doors opened to an exquisite garden that had started blooming, lace and frills and perfume intermingled in the pastel palette of the room. It did not fit with the underlying rot, the fear and stench she associated with it.

"Away," she whispered frantically. "From here, to seek out someone who can make sense of this."

Alice did not inquire more, as if the hollow and frightful eyes were enough explanation to her. But she grew weary of Bella; like the young woman knew something Alice didn't.

All eyes trailed after her as she suddenly excused herself, curtsying and rushing out. Their lips pressed tightly together, but none said anything. The other ladies attributed Bella Swan's strange behavior to her quarrel with Collins and the breaking of their courtship.

But while part of it was a weight on her mind, Bella felt weighed down by everything that had happened as of late. When did her life become so complicated?

She knew one person who could make sense to it. April galloped to The Laughing Goose. It was right after lunch and Bella rushed in, not even caring for decorum. The moment Lucy saw her, she pulled her to the side and poured a cup of straight brandy for her.

"Don't talk, just drink," the older woman said, her forehead wrinkled at the sight of the young woman before her. She looked to be at her breaking point.

Bella downed the contents of the glass in one swoop. Lucy poured her another one. The tavern had a few patrons at the far end playing cards. Bella drank the brandy, disliking how it burned the back of her throat.

Lucy was her faithful friend, her trusty companion—the one she now apparently shared it all with. Yet Bella grew dismayed; there wasn't really anyone she _did_ share everything with, not really.

Secrets, conspirations, corruption: they were all a strange part of her life now.

"Ya heard the rumor," Lucy sighed, grabbing for a bottle behind the counter and pouring Bella's favorite: apple juice. She'd had enough alcohol for the month, for Lucy figured the young lady rarely drank such strong spirits.

Bella's lip trembled. Lucy's understanding eased it all a little. "And Collins," the young woman said, her voice failing her. "James…I tried to ignore it…ignore what everyone said about him." Her voice broke. She looked up at Lucy, teary-eyed. "I'm sorry, Lucy. I didn't know where else to go," she stated meekly.

Lucy shook her head. "Ted!" she shouted. Ted came running from the kitchens with hopeful eyes. "Bar, now!"

It was all he needed. And as Ted took to stand, serving spirits behind the counter and wiping the worn wood, Lucy took Bella's hand into her own and dragged her to her chambers. Bella followed in muted silence.

Once in Lucy's small room, she had her sit on her hastily made bed. She urged Bella to finish the sweet liquid. Lucy was brought back to a time when she'd taken to the bottle, just as her husband had died. She rarely touched alcohol anymore, afraid she'd lose herself in it like in the past. It had been Bella's sweet concern—her eagerness to help her out of bed and get decent for the day, her presence in the tavern—that had finally brought her out of her miserable depression.

But it seemed the tables were turned. For never before had Lucy discerned the young chestnut beauty to be so confused.

"Ya've turned down silly lads in the past, with the mere flick of a finger," Lucy stated, dragging a small chair to sit next to her. "I refuse to believe yer in this state over Collins."

"Why? It makes sense, doesn't it?" Bella didn't truly know her own feelings, only that she was confused.

Lucy shook her head with a knowing smile. "Maybe an accumulation of things that have brought on stress: rumors 'bout Wilson, the fact that five innocent men are being sent to their deaths? Anyone would be upset. And that fight ya had the other day and yer termination of the acquaintance might have to do with it, but I do not believe ya mourn that loss."

"Why do you say such a thing?"

"Because," Lucy said sternly, gesturing with her hand. "Ya did not love him."

"Lucy!"

"Think Isabella, think really hard. Out of all the thing's I've mentioned, what unsettled you the most?"

She saw her own reflection in Lucy's dark eyes and stifled a gasp. Bella looked horrible, pale, with almost bloodshot eyes and terrified expression. She thought about it. And the more she thought about Collins, the more it dawned on her that she did not miss him as she thought she would. His absence did not provoke any sorrows in her.

"I suppose it to be Wilson and the execution."

"And what about them has ya acting like this? Ya know we cannot do much right now about Wilson," Lucy cooed in a motherly way. She tried to settle Bella's mind, but part of her believed her words to make it worse. "And those lads will be saved by Cullen—"

"It's a suicide mission, Lucy!" she spat as her nose wrinkled and she shook her head. "Collins said they'd shoot to kill if he tried to save them." Her breath became heavier and she could finally feel the tears roll down her cheeks upon her sudden outburst.

As soon as she had spoken the words, Bella Swan quickly shut her mouth and looked with wide eyes up at her old friend, only to find a sad smile. She started standing up from the bed, fiddling with her hands, trying to make up an excuse.

But she could not.

"Ya said ya did not associate with outlaws, Bella," Lucy chuckled smugly.

The young woman turned around, lost for words. She started thinking of Edward and that warm, jittery feeling extended itself within her chest. She grabbed at it, in a desperate attempt to calm her heart.

"I saw him fight Forster like it was nothin'. He's bested the entire garrison, and now he has Jacob Black, and a handful of young men helpin' him."

Lucy stood up as well, going over to the corner where some boxes were stacked. She retrieved a paper bag with what appeared to be ledgers and documents in them. She held them for a while in her hands. "I'm blessed to be well read enough to understand what Wilson has been doin' for these past few years—robin' us blind, the idiot." She walked over to Bella and handed her the stack.

Bella was still trying to come to grips with her newfound realization.

She looked at the bag. "Why now?"

Lucy chuckled. "If ya had told me ya knew him, I'd given them to ya in a heartbeat, Isabella. I trust in ya to get these to him. And I trust that when ya do, ya get yer act together and clear things up with him before he heads to rescue those men," Lucy chastised.

Bella shook her head. No, she couldn't face Edward as Cullen, not now when she knew who he was. He would _see_, he would _know_. She didn't want him to know that she was aware of his secret identity. Things were already complicated enough.

"A-aye, I will make these get to him," she mumbled.

Despite it all, Bella Swan looked up at Lucy. In a few quick exchanges, the older and wiser woman had made her realize how blind she'd been these last few months. Bella had turned to Collins in an attempt to ignore her growing affection for someone else. And it was time she truly came to terms with them—either by trying to suffocate the growing flame or by adding fuel to it.

"I believe ya should change, don't ya?" Lucy winked.

Bella looked at her muslin gown, the stain now dried into it, standing out offensively stark in contrast with the light fabric. She still smelled the coffee on herself. "Aye," she whispered.

And then she needed to ride to St. Nicholas.

* * *

Friar Nathan rang the bell three times as Bella fiddled with her hands. The ledgers were secured in the confessional for Jacob to take, but she could not sit still until he was there.

She had no mind to speak with him, to hear of their plan—it would only make her more nervous. She only wished to give him the ledgers. Then she would distance herself from him and from Edward. The young woman was afraid of her strong emotions and thought that turning her back on them might be the answer.

As she paced up and down the nave—the sun just disappeared behind the top trees of Raven's Grove—the small frame of Blackwood stalked down the passage as well, heading for the young woman. "Miss Swan, you'll wear down the floor," he blinked at her.

"Did you happen to see Jacob, father?" she asked. He shook his head. After all, only ten minutes had passed.

"Is something on your mind? You look troubled."

She'd had a refreshing bath back home and changed into a new gown before taking April to St. Nicholas. Bella chuckled. "Too many things, and few that I can divulge," she sighed. Robert was lounging in the entrance, having ridden with her on the request of her mother and father.

Blackwood motioned for one of the benches. "Would you sit down with me? I am sure we can keep company until young Mr. Black arrives."

"As you wish, father." The young woman followed his hunched form and they sat in the front row, regarding the altar. It was fixed to the floor, quite simple with a free-standing wooden table before it. The table was covered in a white cloth and had silver candleholders with thick wax candles that would be lit during mass.

"I have told you before that I care little for what happens in Hayes, yet Friar Nathan is more interested and always keeps me up to date. I was made aware of the unfortunate circumstances surrounding your acquaintance with Major Collins," Blackwood said, looking at the altar and the stone steps leading up to it.

"Then you must also know that the major will not prevent Captain Forster from executing those five men," she whispered. The very words bore heavy on her soul. "I cannot believe it."

"It's not your fault that you couldn't have him intercede, Miss Swan," Rasmus said, clasping his hands within his habit's sleeves, eying her. "But is that really what is bearing down on you the most? Major Collins?"

She kept her eyes glued to her shoes, studying the toes coming to a point in the dark brown leather, looking at every minuscule wrinkle. "No," she confessed. "Of course I fear for those five young men," she added quickly.

"Then who has you in this way?" Blackwood asked.

Bella forcibly shook her head and bit her lip. "I cannot say, father," she stammered. Her heart increased its speed and she dared look up at him for a split second. There was no burning curiosity in Blackwood's eyes, nor any sort of judgment. There was only a friendly smile on this thin lips and a slight creasing at the edges of his black eyes.

"Rest assured, Miss Swan, that those men will be rescued. I have faith in the Lord. I might not always understand how he operates, mind you, but I do believe he knows what he is doing," Blackwood chuckled.

"I have faith in that as well," she mumbled, staring up at the altar, at the representation of various saints and, in the center, the Virgin holding her son in her arms.

"I think Cullen will have his most successful mission yet," Blackwood blinked.

She drew a quick breath through her nose, fiddled with her hands and stood up. Bella couldn't sit still and started pacing around after what he had said.

Blackwood knew, then, what was truly on her mind.

"One should not worry for the Ghost of Raven's Grove, Miss Swan," he told her.

Bella strolled up to the steps leading to the altar, looking at it in more detail. She turned around, her skirts flowing about her, the light from the wax candles cascading about her form. "He is a man of flesh and blood, father," she said. "A man who could be wounded…apprehended…killed."

Rasmus stood up with great difficulty due to his stiff limbs. He walked up to her and patted her on her shoulder. A knowing smile spread on his lips as he remained silent, subdued. She kept firm under his regard but knew he had completely seen through her, just as Lucy had. Was it that evident? "I think young Mr. Black is here," he whispered.

Bella turned, looking down to the dark corner of the transept. One of the doors to the confessional stood open. He must have already stepped inside.

Bella bit her lip and watched as the friar kept strolling down the nave, leaving her to her friend. Her chocolate eyes trailed back to the elaborate wooden confessional. She was not naïve enough to think she could share her fears and feelings with an old man, even within the confinements of confession. Yet, she also knew he'd never share them with anyone else.

Her feet brought her to the dark shadows, and she proceeded to light some wax candles to better see where she was going. She wondered how much Jacob had heard of their conversation. Bella neared with a severe expression. "You know, Jacob, it's very impertinent of you to spy on me and Friar Blackwood like that," she snickered, standing outside of the confessional, wringing her hands.

He remained silent.

"It's even more impolite to not answer me."

Suddenly, the door opened and a hand pulled her inside. Bella gave out a cry of surprise as she settled in the limited space of the confessional. She could scarcely stand without falling into Jacob's lap.

But when she turned to him, she noted it was not Jacob staring up at her. Bella saw two emerald orbs regarding her from behind a black mask and the blood drained from her face.

"H-how much did you hear?" she whispered, pressing against the back wall and latticed opening. He stood up, towering over her with an amused smile spreading on his lips.

"Enough," the voice rumbled against her, stirring her heart. "More than enough," he repeated.

She shook her head angrily. "W-why are you here? Where is Jacob?" She was utterly dumbfounded by him, completely taken off guard. Bella felt bared, naked. And then, she grew angry. "How dare you spy on my conversation with the friar?" she hissed. Their voices reverberated as soft echoes within the walls of the church.

He put up two hands in defense, surprised at her sudden outburst. "After I came all this way to speak with you, you treat me like a stranger?" he asked her, mocking offense. "Come now, Miss Swan, we are well acquainted by now."

She pointed a finger at him and closed in, getting even more defensive. "Do not play coy with me, Cullen, I know _all_ your tricks!"

His eyes crossed as they regarded her finger, which was almost up in his face. "I am sorry you feel that way about me when you a few minutes ago were so completely broken up and worried about me," he teased, pushing away her finger.

"You are very self-absorbed if you think it was _you_ that I was speaking of," she muttered.

"Then who?"

"J-Jacob Black!" It was the first name she could come to think of. But it made sense, she and Jacob had been friends for a very long time. It made sense she'd worry about him instead of Cullen.

And it seemed Edward thought the same for she could see the flash in his eyes. "Black, you say?" Oh, she could hear it in his deep voice how it affected him.

Bella gained a spurt of confidence. "Always Jacob," she said smugly.

His eyes squinted. "I do not believe you," he growled, nearing her, pinning her further into the corner. Bella blushed.

"I hold no worry for you, sir," she growled back, staring him down defiantly. But Bella had never been a good liar, she wondered if he'd see through her now.

The entire church had gone completely silent, and very empty. But all she felt was a trickling sense of giving way to her beating heart, to the heat in her body, to feelings she'd never encountered before. It stretched from deep inside her, tugging, pulling, shattering. She thought the whole church would come down crashing with the loud thuds of her heart. She thought that the eyes of heaven would look down upon her and judge her for what she felt for this man. For it could not be natural.

"Look me in the eyes and say that again," she heard his voice whisper into her left ear. Bella stifled a shiver, fearing her knees would give out on her.

"No," she said, biting her lip.

She dared not face him, afraid of her own reaction and what she might read in the line of his face, in the set of his lips. She did not wish to be teased, to be his source of amusement when she took the situation so seriously. She was the one who would play around with him and his feelings now. But even when she held an advantage over him, Bella could not.

"Then you do not mind if I go to the garrison, wouldn't mind if I got shot by Forster and even got killed by him?" he asked, the velvety voice smooth and silky against her ears.

She kept her mouth closed. If she spoke, he'd know.

"Look at me," he told her.

She still had her eyes cast to the floor, staring at the folds in her dress and the cut of his boots.

"Bella."

Her name ran in two perfect syllables against his tongue. It felt so very different when he said it. It sounded right; like the name was meant to be said by him, as if he had always called her that. It must have taken him by surprise as well, for she could feel him hesitate.

"After tonight, I shall not irritate you further. But look at me and tell me that you hold no care or worry for me," his low rich voice whispered, carried by the faint echo within the church. It brushed against her and she bit down hard.

He reached out further and turned her to face him. The emerald eyes there, fully present in the moment. For the first time, both were completely serious adults, with no teasing or assumption about the other. In a way, both stood bared, with conflicting emotions. Yet she tried to run away from hers.

Edward stepped in further, his right hand cupping her face softly; as if he wished for nothing else in the world. He waited for her reaction as he guided her face up to meet his entirely. His thumb brushed her lower lip as it had once before, a yearning in his caress that made her body weak and her heart grow so livid that she might collapse from the pressure.

Despite knowing him to be Edward Masen, she could not for the life of her put the two together. But here he was; so genuine and gentle in his manner toward her. It had been easier when she hadn't known anything. It had been easier when he had teased her.

She finally gave up. "Alright," she murmured with a resigned air. "You win," she looked at him, her eyes sparkling and filled with resentment that he had cornered her. "I fear for you, because you take thoughtless risks, because you have a complete disregard for your own life. And I hate that you forced your way into my life, I hate that I now worry for your safety." But she would not tell him why: that she knew he was Edward Masen. "How do you expect me to confide in you when you will not even show your face?" she whispered. This was his chance to finally tell her who he was.

His dark form loomed over her and she saw the set of his mouth, the way his jaw squared. Bella had hit a nerve and she knew it.

"What lies beneath this mask would only disappoint you, Miss Swan," he told her. She stared at the lips, watched in fascination as they moved when he spoke in a low murmur. While his words had been subdued before, they now resonated with his powerful voice: it was unmistakably him.

"You cannot know that," she breathed back. "You do not know me," she said haughtily with a prideful air. "Nor how I will react."

"I think I do, if only a little." He neared her further and reached up. Any amount of a smile was gone, replaced by a serious and searching expression, looking for something in her eyes. She stood perfectly still, afraid to move. The way he had looked at her before returned now. He removed his right hand from her arm. "Miss Swan, does this feel wrong to you?" he asked into her ear as his thumb brushed against her jaw and he stared at her mouth. Bella's skin turned into gooseflesh and the butterflies in her lower abdomen increased tenfold. "Would you protest if I kissed you?"

She had never found herself so confused and in such a situation before. Bella was supposed to push away, turn from him. Her eyes widened as they were glazed over with unshed tears. "Yes!" she exclaimed terrified in a faint but determined voice, afraid of her own reaction.

"I do not believe you."

How would it feel to kiss him? How would it feel to _be_ kissed by this man? He who had been amusing himself with teasing her, toying with her. But Bella could not stop herself as she stared into his eyes. In the golden light of the wax candles, she studied them: their intensity, the way he regarded her.

Teasingly slow, his lips came down to brush softly against hers, discerning her reaction. When she did not stop him, he continued to explore her lips with his. Bella shivered at his touch. But it was a pleasant experience, extending throughout her body, making her crave more than his simple teasing. She closed her eyes as he pressed his mouth against hers more decidedly. He was careful, gentle in his touch, mindful of not scaring her.

Despite herself, the situation—the fact that Robert, Blackwood or even Nathan could stumble upon them in the confessional—she grabbed on to the collar of his shirt and drew him in with a sigh as she parted her lips to deepen the kiss. She could feel him smiling against her as he took her invitation.

There was only that moment between the two: strangers in the night. Yet, there was a deeper understanding, an unspoken bond that had emerged during their time they had known one another, and it reflected in their kiss.

His arms snaked about her form, their bond more passionate, another sigh escaping her as she melted in his arms, grew warm and secure in his embrace.

But.

Wait.

What was she doing?

What on _earth_ what she doing?!

Suddenly, she broke the kiss, placing a hand on his chest to put some room between them. Bella was horrified with her action. She pushed him away, placing her other hand over her mouth.

His glistening eyes burrowed into her very soul. Hadn't she known any better, she would truly think him a specter.

Bella desperately needed to get away from him and the confusing situation. She turned away and opened the door, running to the entrance of the church.

Edward stared after her, trying to control his breathing and frantic pulse. She had _deepened_ their kiss. Despite what she had said to Masen about Cullen, Bella Swan had acted completely against it.

* * *

He pushed past the drunk guests as the gathering came to its end in the early hours of the morning. Forster wrinkled his nose at the stale waft of mead, claret, and food. The footman, clad in his elegant dark blue coat with gold lining and white wig, held the candleholder high above his head as he guided the captain up the staircase.

Forster's eyes darted about, taking in the many portraits of ancestors from Wilson's family, how the candlelight cast eerie shadows across their features. He imagined snarls on their faces as he passed them on the carpeted staircase.

Two vast doors pulled open to reveal Wilson's office. The man of the hour sat and was going over notes with a worried expression in his eyes. His mouth was fixed in a snarl as he read a paragraph.

"Captain Forster here for you, sir," the footman said in a flat tone, ushering Forster in and promptly closing the door after him.

Wilson ignored him, trailing over the paperwork once more, his expression jumping from gleeful to irritated.

It was four in the morning and Forster grew increasingly tired Wilson's behavior. "This is the third time you call me here this week, Lionel," he muttered.

"I didn't know you kept count," the mayor said, casting the papers aside, stretching his neck and looking up at the officer.

"People will grow suspicious of our acquaintance if you keep sending for me," Forster deadpanned.

"That is why I called for you at four in the morning," Wilson answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Forster took a chair and went to sit before the mayor. Wilson took a cigar and lit it using one of the nearby candles while Forster poured a glass of whiskey. He enjoyed coming over to the mayor's house regardless; he boasted some of the best liquor collection in Hayes. "Why am I here?" he asked. It had to be serious. Unless Cullen had attacked him, Wilson rarely called him so often.

Wilson sighed to the captain as he put the lit cigar between his lips and drew a deep breath. Forster kept his stern expression, seeing Wilson's eyes dart from the papers on his desk to Forster's forehead, examining the ugly scar. "The execution is in two days."

"You don't have to remind me."

"There is a problem," Wilson continued.

"Collins?"

The fat man made a grimace and waved with his hand. "No, not him. Him we have where we want, for now. As you know, every year, the Cabinet in Safeira sends out representatives in accordance with His Majesty to inspect the towns," Wilson explained.

"Of course," Forster nodded. He had been there to welcome the representant since taking over as captain. "I know, but it will be months until they send the representative here. We had the inspection done in November."

Wilson leaned forward and, for the first time, Forster noted the slight hint of worry. It unnerved him as well. "They are pushing it forward," Wilson said. "The letter was delayed, I got the news just now."

"Maybe we should hold off on executing those prisoners, then."

"It's not because of these prisoners!" the mayor barked. "The man they are sending is Willard Athar!"

"Oscar isn't coming?" Forster paled. The man who had been coming the last few times had been easier than most to bribe to keep quiet about Hayes and the false records they kept in Town Hall.

"No. And this new type will bring problems to us," Wilson muttered under his breath. "Willard's brother is John Athar, the bloody Duke of Cantabria. And Mr. Willard is good friends with General Beckett _and_ Adams!"

Forster clenched his fists. "The same General Beckett who approved of the revolt up north?"

"The very same. John Athar is a known sympathizer for the supposed plight of the people. Someone has been pulling strings to send his younger brother here," the mayor explained in a rushed manner, his eyes darting about. "Wouldn't surprise me if that bloody Ridge wrote out to his office in a plea." Wilson slammed down his closed fist on the desk. "If that bastard gets here so close to this execution, we might not be able to subdue the people… He could _end_ me!" Wilson kept muttering to himself.

Forster's eyes darkened. "We show weakness if we cancel the execution."

"I know that!"

Forster leaned forward. "We will deal with him, sir," he said in low tones. "Just like we dealt with Count Newton."

"This is different. Newton wasn't missed by anyone. The name Athar is one of the most powerful ones in Angloa! We need to tread with caution."

"What is your plan?"

"We follow the plan and deal with Athar when he comes. We will not stop this execution."

"He doesn't sound like the type to be bribed, sir," the captain argued. He knew what he enjoyed: taking lives. Taking the life of a nobleman was even more exciting.

"For everything else, Cullen has been a nuisance," Wilson sighed. "But we might use him now to our benefit."

Forster curled his lips as a bloodthirsty look emerged from his eyes. "We kill Athar and blame it on Cullen? Brilliant, sir," he leered. "However, I doubt Collins would approve."

"Collins? As soon as we take down Cullen and Athar, that man is meeting the same fate as Captain Clarke," Wilson chuckled.

* * *

**A/N: So I've been listening to the soundtrack from GoT season 8 (MAYBE SPOILERS?) Damn it's freaking melancholic...Ramin Djawadi should get an Emmy for his amazing work on the series (not to mention the actors, I shall not speak of what the writers did on the last season however :l )**

**I'm beyond amazed at seeing so many more people reviewing on the latest chapters! I want you to know that I read each and every one of them and truly appreciate them :) I am keeping busy with a new job (yay, fresh outta uni!) now so I'm coming home exhausted, barely enough strength to proofread the new chapters before posting them (thank GOD I have finished writing this fic! ;))**


	25. Chapter 25

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 25_

The only thing passing through her mind whenever she looked at him was their kiss.

Deep, slow, longing, passionate. A kiss from someone who wanted her in ways she had never experienced before. Bella had wanted him as well, had melted completely into his embrace and grown afraid of what they had done. But she wanted to go to him again, despite her pride getting in the way. She could no longer tease him as Cullen and then sit idly by him as Masen and act as if nothing had ever happened.

"My Miss Swan, you look positively flushed," Jessica Stanley said, straining her eyes on the brunette. Edward Masen, in his ever-extravagant attire, turned to look at the blushing young woman.

"I suppose I am too close to the fire," Bella excused, getting up and accepting the fan Alice handed over to her. In the small chimney of Jessica Stanley's drawing room roared a fire. They were redecorating the parlor for summer. But even in the cluttered drawing room, Bella found it hard to breathe, for they seemed to have drenched the drapes in strongly scented perfume here as well.

She strolled to the window. April was soon to be over, merging into her favorite month: May. Bella couldn't believe that almost a year had passed since the first appearance of Cullen. Many things had happened in that year. She leaned against the window and felt someone come up to her.

"Are you truly alright, Miss Swan?" came the vaguely thin drawl from behind her. Maybe it was her perception of him, but Edward Masen seemed to have toned down his act. Or maybe she only looked at him in a new way. His nose didn't point up as much as it used to. His hair wasn't as horribly gelled anymore. While still pressed down flat against his scalp, he had refrained from fixing each curl upon his forehead, they were brushed to the side now. He seemed less inclined to drop offensive remarks and insults wherever he went. It was as if Edward Masen had grown a semblance of tact overnight.

Carlisle Masen had discreetly noted the minuscule transformation in his son from one day to another. He had not inquired about it, he was still too stressed about what Cullen had stolen from him.

Edward had not yet approached his father for his involvement in what he now referred to as the Ridge affair. But there might come a time when he could need his help.

She turned around, clenching the black fan in her left hand, uncertain of how to truly face him. "I am…Mr. Masen," she began. This man had held her in his arms, had kissed her. Her cheeks started to heat up again and she fanned herself more rapidly.

His eyebrows furrowed together. "You remind me of a tomato, Miss Swan," he stated blatantly.

"Really now, Mr. Masen," she said in a strangled way.

"Come, come, tis not that bad. Here, I brought you some water," he told her, offering her the glass. His manner toward her was much like on their promenades; more gentle, softer around the edges.

"T-thank you, Mr. Masen," she managed, gripping at the glass and sipping down the water.

"Miss Swan," he bowed, offering his arm. Bella felt Alice Hale stare in bewilderment at the way her brother behaved. But she liked this new Edward very much.

Jessica Stanley was in deep conversation with Miss Webber and Miss Moore. Bella took in the sight of the drawing room. Despite not having liked the tea gatherings at Miss Stanley, they, together with her constant visits to the Masen townhouse, made Bella realize them to be the only true constants to her rattled life. Jessica, however vain and extravagant she could be, had offered her a place where she could frolic and be silly—get away from her everyday worries and be a young woman, listening to other silly young women speak of fashion, complain of men, and gossip.

They were about to leave when Jessica sought her out as she was handed her cape by one of the footmen. "Miss Swan," Jessica hastened. Her muslin gown in a soft lemon color swayed about her feet as she hastened her step.

Bella took the cape and placed it about her form. "Aye, Miss Stanley?"

"I…know we have not always seen eye to eye. I know you think I am a silly girl." Jessica stopped for a moment and nodded in accordance with what she had said. "But I hope you understand that I do not hold a dislike for you." Jessica grimaced. "Well, I do not _completely_ dislike you, Miss Swan. Of course, there are some things about you that could be improv—"

"Miss Stanley, stop, you will make me flustered with such elevations and compliments," Bella deadpanned.

"Anyway!" Jessica continued, nervous yet expectant. "I…," she paused, trying to find the correct words. "You are a good person, Miss Swan. You abhor gossiping, you stand up for what you believe in."

"What is going on, Miss Stanley?" Bella was now truly curious. Was Jessica Stanley in some type of peril?

"You are great friends with Jacob Black, are you not?" she asked.

"Yes?"

Jessica lifted her right hand and presented a small envelope, sealed in red wax. "I think you are discreet, Isabella. I would implore you to deliver this letter to young Mr. Black to…to pass on to Mr. Cullen," she said stifled. "I know he is with the rebels, I know Black can deliver this to him." There was a sadness in Jessica's blue eyes she had never seen before. It had always been hidden by her extravagant façade.

Bella's lips parted. "Why?"

The other brunette forcibly shook her head and looked pleadingly at Bella. "Please, ask me not. But I need you to know that I do this to help someone I care deeply for. It is someone who runs great danger of losing their life should they be discovered by…I think you can guess by who," she whispered.

"Why do you wish for this letter to reach Cullen?" Bella was not about to risk Edward's life and identity for a person she did not know.

Jessica gripped the letter harder. "Because the only safe place for them right now is among Cullen's men in Raven's Grove. They will be found out at their current location." Bella had never seen Jessica so downtrodden before. "_Please_, Miss Swan. Please do this one thing for me," she begged.

Bella pressed her lips together. She guessed there was no harm in delivering a letter. But she would have to do it this evening. Tomorrow the execution was to happen, and she didn't know how safe it would be to ride out of Hayes—or if such a thing would even be possible after Cullen had saved those men. For all she knew, a stricter curfew might be put in place.

"I shall deliver it, Miss Stanley."

Jessica's otherwise arrogant expression broke out into a genuine smile that softened her face. "T-thank you, Miss Swan!" She took Bella's hands in her own and squeezed them. "Thank you!"

Bella nodded, taking the letter and hiding it deep within one of her dress' pockets.

Edward and Alice had stayed behind, looking at the strange interaction between both brunettes. "I never thought I'd live to see the day when Jessica Stanley would thank Isabella," Alice mumbled with her eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

Her brother placed his hand on her back and guided her down the stairs. "I think we should refrain from asking her," he mumbled in her ear.

It caused a chuckle. "Good idea!"

They quickly climbed up into the carriage and were soon joined by Bella, who had a look of bewilderment as she quickly smoothed out the skirt of her dress while sitting down next to Edward.

The carriage took them through the center of the town. Alice carried most of the conversation, but it was downtrodden. They were unfortunate enough to ride by the main square and garrison, where the gallows were housed. Bella wished she could light them on fire and watch them burn down. Her heart could not imagine the sorrow the families of those men had to go through.

"There are several people who have taken rooms in Lucy's inn so that they might catch a glimpse of Cullen," Jasper murmured.

"How can they treat this whole matter like entertainment?" Bella spurted out. "It's disgusting!" She couldn't help but get riled up.

They all stayed subdued until someone waved at them. Bella hadn't happened upon Sgt. Thompson in a while. He looked as stout and pudgy as ever. But the usual light in his eyes was gone, put out. He neared them hesitantly. Edward told Joseph to stop the carriage.

"Ladies," he nodded to Bella and Alice. "Gentlemen," he bowed to the others. Thompson looked like a guilty child, caught in something he shouldn't be doing. Despite being angry with everyone wearing a uniform, Bella could never truly be angry with the kind sergeant. "Are you passing through or visiting someone?"

"Passing through, it's the quickest way home," Jasper answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Yes, why _do_ you ask?" wondered Alice as she repeated her husband's question with more force.

"The…uh captain has ordered all access points into the square for vehicles and horse riders to be shut down at seven tonight. If you were seeing an acquaintance or going to Lucy's and stayed there, you'd be forced to remain within the confinements of the barricades. Only pedestrians may pass until ten, then the whole place will be shut down for the…the…well, you know."

"Sergeant." Bella scooted closer to the edge of the vis-à-vis carriage. "Whatever happens tonight, please keep safe, would you?" She, like most of Hayes, knew there would emerge a confrontation—that Cullen would try to free the prisoners. Captain Forster probably counted on that. She'd hate to see Thompson wounded in the crossfire.

His face lit up, glad that there was still someone who considered him a friend. "Oh, don't worry yourself about that, miss! The captain has stated I am not experienced enough to face Cullen and his men; were they to come. So, he has me standing guard in an insignificant spot," the carefree sergeant boomed. He didn't realize, of course, that he was giving out valuable information.

However, Bella certainly did. And, she realized, if she could get more out of him in front of Edward, it might help him. For, surely, it would look strange now for Edward to be asking such questions.

"Oh, indeed?" she continued. "I do not think he'd place you somewhere insignificant, sergeant! I believe you to be very capable and courageous."

Thompson beamed further. "I…thank you again. But really, every soldier knows that guarding the latrines is not the most agreeable site," he continued.

Alice bit back a flustered laugh and Jasper arched an eyebrow, but he kept his genuine calm about him.

"Where would you like to stand guard, sergeant?" she asked, feigning curiosity. "A soldier's life has always intrigued me, you see. And I see myself forced to live vicariously through you since I could never become one," she lamented.

"Well, any of the usual sentinel posts are acceptable. But I'd wish to be in the thick of the action, even if you are so against me being it, Miss Swan. Yet, Captain Forster has strategically placed the entire garrison. There are even posts outside of it for once." Thompson started pointing at a few houses. "There and there," he said with the point of his finger. "Some of the more trained shots will be up there. I should think it thrilling to stand guard on a roof!" he exclaimed. He was about to go on his tirade when they all heard a roaring shout.

"Sergeant, stop wasting your time!" Captain Forster screamed from the open doors leading into the garrison. He had his hat low over his forehead, shielding a face he no longer wished to show out of embarrassment.

Thompson scrambled and sent them on their way, struggling to run back to his commanding officer. Bella turned around in the carriage with a sympathetic look.

When she turned back around, she noted that all three were staring at her. "W-what?" she blurted out.

"That was a strange conversation, Bella," Alice frowned.

"Indeed not, Alice. I was merely giving some words of courage to the sergeant."

"It looked to me like you were leading him to give you information, _strategical_ information," Jasper said.

Bella crossed her arms before her, her eyes darting about as she tried to flee from their regards. "Really now, Mr. Hale, what a wild imagination you do have," she laughed forcibly.

"It looked like that to me as well," Alice joined in. "Didn't it to you, brother?"

Bella faced Edward and fought hard to keep a stern mask of indifference. But within her heart, she begged that he save her from the couple's inquisitiveness. It wouldn't do at all for them to know that she had done it for Cullen.

"Well, Alice dear, the sergeant has a tendency to give away such secretive things whether one asks him or not," he began with an irritated sigh in the signature thin voice.

"But this was different," Alice continued.

"Miss Swan," Jasper leaned forward. He studied her expression as his eyes squinted. "I have heard that you were once good friends with Jacob Black who now resides in Raven's Grove. Is it possible you did this so that he might deliver this information further to Cullen?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Hale!" They were a few more minutes from her home. Bella needed merely to stall and then run away. She would have to deal with the Hales in the morning, in the aftermath of whatever would happen in the garrison. "I severed my connection with Jacob when he left for the forest," she gulped.

But he did not believe her. Jasper Hale knew Bella enough to know that she wasn't the best of liars. She was genuine, honest and warm to anyone who knew her. He could see in the way she defensively crossed her arms before her to the way she avoided eye contact that she was lying through her teeth.

"Of course, how silly of me," he responded.

But the tension remained, and she knew that Jasper had not believed her. Neither had Alice.

"Well, here is your house, Miss Swan!" Edward Masen quickly blurted out. "Come, let me help you down."

He quickly got down from the carriage and extended a hand. Bella couldn't know, of course, the gratitude he felt toward her. But he also thought it strange that she so openly should be questioning Thompson and in front of his sister and brother-in-law no doubt. He suspected she was onto something. A part of him hoped she had not started thinking _he_ had something to do with Cullen. The very thought of her knowing who hid behind the mask mortified him.

She grabbed his hand as she lifted her skirts. Bella stepped down from the carriage, avoiding as much eye contact with Edward Masen as was humanly possible. She gave him a polite curtesy, stiff, awkward and dismissive. "Thank you, Mr. Masen," she mumbled before turning to the married couple. "I shall see you tomorrow, yes?" she asked them.

"Tomorrow, Bella," Alice nodded.

Bella Swan walked up the small steps to her front door and was ushered in by one of the maids. Edward leaned against the black carriage, still focused on her. "You know," he drawled casually as he turned back and hoisted himself up into the carriage. "I think she is the strangest girl I have ever met."

Joseph urged the horses into a swift trot. Alice fanned herself with her white fan, the gentle breeze dragging across her face. Her straw bonnet shielded her from the invasive sunbeams. She eyed her brother with a curious expression. "I know," she smirked.

* * *

"How can you trust her?" Jacob wondered, bewildered as he stared at her through the latticed opening.

"It's only a letter, Jacob."

"Tis Jessica _Stanley_!" he hissed, leaning in closer.

She was uncomfortable being back in the confessional. Bella remembered the limited space, Edward's body pressed up against hers, their breaths mingling, the softness in their kiss, the way he had caressed her; so gently, so softly. She squeezed her eyes shut, listening to the flapping wings of doves that flew by the stained-glass windows. She inhaled the smell of wax candles, burned wood and incense.

"Tomorrow they mean to hang those farmers. I only ask you to deliver this to Cullen before he rides into town tonight," she pleaded.

Jacob stared down at the letter, wondering what it might contain. "He is a good fighter, and…he has his wits."

In a placid silence, they regarded the other, separated only by the latticed opening. Bella thought it so strange. She and Jacob came from the same background. Their parents and grandparents had built up their wealth, had risen in society through hard work. Yet now they found themselves in completely different places. She understood, by the way in which he met her regard, that similar thoughts had to be passing through his mind.

"Will you give my regards to your father?" she asked. She had not inquired after his health for a while, not since she'd heard that Billy Black might have lost the capacity for walking ever again. "I heard from Lucy how he…rallied the people at the Goose." She fiddled with her skirt, casting her eyes down. "Be proud of him, Jacob. I know you idolize Cullen. But be proud of your father too, for what he stood for, for what he is yet standing for."

He did not expect such words from her. "I…I will. He will be gladdened to hear such words from you."

She pressed her hand to the opening. "Please take care tonight. They will know you are coming," she pleaded.

"I shall. But ride home now, Bella, before it gets too late and you are condemned for breaking the curfew. I doubt bribing the sergeant with pies might help you this time."

She nodded. "I am stopping by Lucy's on my way home to make sure all is well tonight."

Jacob remained silent and Bella made the sign of the cross and stepped out. She had ridden to St. Nicholas alone, snuck away from her parents as soon as she'd gotten the chance. In her own home, there was a subdued air. Her mother kept pacing the drawing room, casting her eyes to the opened window every so often. Bella suspected Renée Swan held some worry for what might go on in the garrison that night as well.

In fact, most of Hayes held its breath in silent anticipation. It was expected that Edward Cullen would make his most daring rescue yet. And Forster was waiting for it more than anyone: he had a bullet with Cullen's name written on it.

Collins had avoided the public eye mostly since her dismissal of him. The thought made her frown and feel downtrodden, hoping her words had not hurt him too much. Alas, despite whatever situation he might find himself in, she could still not accept that he had not at least openly admitted that Forster's actions were completely unreasonable. She suspected the captain had some type of hold over Collins, which made the whole situation even worse.

She took April through the south gate. Her hooves clappered down the cobblestone street and Bella tasted the metal waft in the air. A storm was nearing, despite the clear evening sky. April's hooves kept thundering down the cobblestone and she soon saw The Laughing Goose, with some sentinels placed before it. Bella took the back route and tied April in the small cove behind Lucy's bar where overnight guests would leave their horses. Then she felt the handle of the door leading into the kitchens. She shook her head when she realized it was open.

Bella stepped inside, met by Lucy's busy workers as the evening would soon turn into night. Yet, soon the guests that were not staying overnight would be sent home as the curfew was set in place and the square was closed off for everyone. She recognized both Ted, Joe, and a few of the female staff.

"Miss Swan?" one of them blurted out as she stepped inside. She smoothed out her lavender muslin gown under the dark cape. She took out the needles holding the black straw bonnet to her head.

"Where is Lucy?"

Joe who was big, burly, strong and taller than a house walked up to her. He scratched his beard and his hazel eyes were wide as he regarded her. In the limited space of the tavern kitchens, standing next to a heated fireplace where the embers still glowed furiously, one of the maids answered. "She be outside, miss." She paused slightly, wiping away some sweat on her forehead. "Bu' the inn be filled wi' soldiers, n' the rest of the patrons are goin' 'ome except some who 'ave rented rooms fer the night. Mr. Masen is one of 'em," she tsked to herself.

Bella arched an eyebrow at the words. Yet, she suspected it would be easier for Edward to have a room at the inn. He could appear and disappear rather easily during the night. "I'm surprised Captain Forster would let the lancers in here and drink when such an important night is ahead."

The staff all pressed their lips shut and avoided her gaze.

"What is happening here? What are you not telling me?" she asked with her hands placed on her hips.

Ted, who usually spoke before thinking, blurted out immediately. "Well, see here, the soldiers came in and Lucy had a mind to send 'em all away. Bu' Joe and some others told her to keep 'em inside and give 'em free refreshments!" he smiled.

Bella now understood why Ted was being kept in the back; for he was not the most discreet of men. Lucy was making sure some of the posted guards were kept drunk through the night. She was doing her part in helping Edward.

She turned to Joe. "Will you tell her I am here? I wish to speak to her before leaving," she sighed as she removed the cape. In half an hour the square would be shut down, she had little time.

Joe's arms fell down to his side in an act of indifference as he nodded. He walked to the front, through laughing soldiers, drinking men, and merriment at its finest. The moment he told Lucy who was in the back, she looked as if she'd tear him in two and demanded him to take the front as she rushed back.

The heavy wooden door to the kitchen opened and Lucy's dark eyes searched the crowded room, all standing completely still, afraid of the wrath of the heavy-set woman. Her graying strawberry blonde curls jumped slightly with each move of her head.

She finally spotted Bella, seated in a corner, leaning against the wall, carefree and curious. "Isabella Marie Swan!" she practically screamed. Lucy was on a war-path as she pushed her way forward to the young woman who stood up, her expression neutral. "What on _earth_ are ya doin' here?"

Bella parted her lips to answer but was promptly silenced when an accusing finger pointed to her face.

"Are ya completely mad?"

"I ask myself that sometimes, Lucy," Bella mumbled. She had never seen Lucy so angry and desperate before.

"They'll shut the square down soon!"

"I do not know what folly overcame me when I rode up here, Lucy. I agree. I should have cantered home, but I wanted to come and make sure all was well…I have an unsettling feeling I cannot explain," she blushed.

Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose, taking deep breaths and couldn't help as a gleeful chuckle erupted. "Come here," she cooed, dragging Bella into a hard embrace. "I thank ya for worryin' fer us, but as ya can see, we manage."

Bella could hear the merriment coming from the other side of the door. She heard a guitar singing loudly in a vibrant tune and clapping accompanying it.

"Ya best get goin' now, Miss Swan," Ted told her.

"Aye, he's right, miss," Lucy agreed. "Tomorrow we shall see what remains after this bloody night." Lucy eyed her, the wrinkles in her chubby face more prominent. There was a tired air to her that Bella had not perceived before.

Bella took Lucy's rough hands in her own and squeezed them. She took in the other faces and then left again, in time to see that the sun had set. A feeling of doom settled in the pit of her stomach. She hoped she would make it out of the square in time.

April kept alert as she took her away from The Laughing Goose. Most windows stood dark and, ahead, she spotted one of the barricades now up, promptly guarded by some soldiers she recognized. Bella swallowed hard as she saw the street was shut down.

"Halt, who goes there!" one of them said and aimed a musket at her. He immediately got a slap on the back of his head from his fellow guard.

"Idiot, can you not see it's Miss Swan?" he spat, pointing at her. Bella tilted her head to the side.

"Yes, but the captain said—"

"Nevermind what the captain said!" the soldier continued. "You could have shot her!"

"Gentlemen," she began, with a carefree smile. "I am awestruck by your determination to safeguard your post and have not taken offense."

They both straightened up, quite taken by her compliment. The eyes lit up like beacons shining on their sun-kissed faces and smiles split their shaved chins.

"Still, Miss Swan, as you heard us mention, there is a blockade here. No one is allowed to leave the square—"

Bella put up a gentle hand. "Of course!" she exclaimed. "But," she leaned forward. "From what I understand, both of you frequent Little Lucy's establishment quite often, is that not so?"

"Undoubtedly," the second soldier sang.

The other, who had pointed the musket at Bella scratched his head and then leaned to his friend in an indiscreet whisper. "Do you even know what that word means?" he asked.

His friend shook his shoulders. "I've heard the major use it, so it must be a fancy word," he hissed back in his faint Cadherran accent.

Bella firmly pressed her lips together, a blush creeping up her neck. She had overheard their rather indiscreet conversation. "Then you must also know that I am almost as a daughter to her, I'd consider Lucy my aunt, even my god-mother," she continued.

"Indubiously," the first soldier said to her.

"Hey Ulric, I don't think that's a word!" his friend hissed smugly at him, causing Ulric's cheeks to redden.

Bella Swan neared a little bit more. "If I were to tell Lucy that you had not permitted me to pass, do you think she would allow _you_ to ever set foot in The Laughing Goose again?"

They thought long and hard for a good answer to give, only to both, simultaneously, say: "No."

"No," Bella agreed. "Then, I ask, will you let me pass, gentlemen?"

More time passed as both processed her words. But it appeared their fear for Captain Forster outweighed being banned from Lucy's tavern. "I'm sorry, Miss Swan," the first soldier said. "But you'll have to turn 'round. Orders are orders and we cannot let you pass this point."

She paled, now trapped within the blockade, unable to inform her family where she was. "And what shall I do to tell my family that I am detained thusly?" she asked them indignantly. "For I've nowhere to go."

"That ain't our problem. If you're such good friends with Mrs. Berg, then I'm sure she'll let you have a room in the Goose for the night."

"The Goose is filled to the brim," Bella deadpanned. "But," she started turning April around. "I suppose she'll find me a place to rest somewhere in the back. I wonder how she'll react once I tell her how badly I was treated by you. I do not suppose you'll ever step foot into her establishment again!" she spat, urging April into a trot.

She stepped back inside to the kitchen defeated and ashamed. Before any of the staff could say anything, Bella interrupted them. "Hold your remarks for yourselves! I know it was silly of me to ride here so close to the curfew and blockade of the square," she sighed. Joe came up to her.

"They did not let ya pass?"

Bella shook her head. "I am as trapped here as you…and my family must be worried sick," she lamented. She had snuck away to St. Nicholas hours ago. They probably thought something had happened to her by now. "I cannot communicate to them where I am."

Joe leaned down to her with a comforting smile. "Fear not, Miss Swan, we'll not send ya away. I'll explain the situation to Lucy."

In the five minutes that transpired, Lucy made her way to the kitchens and regarded Bella with a defeated expression.

"Linnea!" Lucy shouted.

"Yea, Lucy?" a scrawny young kitchen maid mumbled, stepping forth.

"Ya will send Miss Swan with some stew and port into my personal quarters n' keep sure she keeps there till the sun comes up!"

"Thank you," Bella whispered.

The kitchen maid took her to Lucy's quarters without a word, leaving Bella to her own design, letting her sit in that desolate space as she munched on the rich stew. The hours passed, the tension rising.

Yet she heard little.

Soon, The Laughing Goose settled for the night and she was certain that most had gone to bed. Lucy stepped into her quarters somewhere after midnight and placed a makeshift cot next to the bed. Bella was about to switch places with her when Lucy growled at her that "under her roof, she'd never make a Swan sleep in worse conditions than herself". Bella, flustered, got back into the bed, fully dressed, yet unable to sleep. Lucy's snores soon indicated that the older woman had succumbed to her dreams.

She lay awake, staring out the window, wondering if Edward was actively trying to rescue the five farmers while she lay there, passive, afraid. But she heard nothing, no indication to him being close to helping the farmers out of the garrison.

In what she figured had to be the wee hours of the morning, Bella thought Cullen would not rescue the farmers and grew almost close to crying when tumult erupted somewhere.

Much like the very first night of his appearance in Hayes, the town was rocked violently by an explosion. She could practically sense the ground shaking, shouts flying and horses neighing in panic. Bella and Lucy rushed up without a word, knowing very well where that sound came from.

The garrison.

"Ya stay in here now!" Lucy hissed as she grabbed her robe and shawl, pulling them closer about her body. Yet, the young woman sat up in the bed, searching for her boots.

"I must—"

The stout woman's chubby and roughened hand shot out in the small room, grabbing hold of Bella, squeezing so hard that she thought her arm might crumble. "Ya stay. Tis not a suggestion. Outside it will be dangerous!" she growled. The pale moonlight which seeped through Lucy's dirty window cast eerie silver reflections across her features, making her as pale as a corpse.

Bella, with a hard-set expression and wide eyes, nodded hesitantly while watching Lucy put the dressing gown over her wrinkled muslin night dress. She changed to a thick woolen shawl for extra measure; it might be spring, but it was still chilly outside.

Lucy Berg rushed out of the small room, leaving Bella feeling alone and exposed. She strained her ears, hearing shouts, screams and an abundance of hooves drumming upon the ground in a loud backdrop.

Bella pressed her hands together and said a silent prayer, urging Edward to take care, almost shivering in fear for him.

Even from the backroom of the Goose, Bella saw the smoke particles of the explosion roll up like an imposing wave of asphyxiating clouds and press against the window. She discerned commands belonging to none other than Forster and was, for the first time, glad to be in the safety of Lucy's tavern.

She strained to listen, but the sounds mingled together into something indiscernible. For the first time, she smelt the waft of something burning, of shattered stone and crumbling brick. The earthy scent blended with the waft of burnt wood and fear. Somewhere thunder roared madly, crackling high up in the sky as the storm neared.

So much fear could be heard, felt, and smelt.

Yet Bella was blind for her main sense—that of sight—was confined by the smallness of the room in which she found herself. Her boots that had been stacked next to the bed had fallen over due to the force of the explosion.

She put them on and started pacing in the small room, unable to keep still.

Then a gunshot sounded.

It was strange; for if the backdrop had been chaos before, this gunshot violently ripped through it, managing to still everything after.

Another gunshot echoed, swiftly followed by a third and fourth.

After the fifth, Bella placed her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. The nightmare seemed never to end. Her premonition had been right; the feeling of dread was yet to leave her, and she stood poised in the middle of the room, breathing shallow breaths, only hearing her loud pulse as she pressed her hands harder against her ears.

She didn't know if seconds or hours had passed. All Bella knew was that a wave of hooves left for the northwest, no doubt chasing the culprits.

She finally removed her hands from her ears and stilled to see if anything else might stand out. But she only heard the rustling of the patrons, the loud chatter from the front of the tavern as they all no doubt tried to work out what had just transpired. She could hear Lucy's booming voice shout commands, urging them all to calm.

Bella, bathed in the silver light of the moon, supposed Edward and his friends had saved the farmers' sons and managed to flee to Raven's Grove.

She sank down on the bed, trying to stifle her heart which had been riled up from the tension.

Bella Swan had never once believed in the supernatural, in ghosts, in fate, in prophecies. She was never the one to believe that 'one was at the right place at the right time'.

That, of course, would change forever after that fateful night.

First, there were vague and weak thuds against the back façade of the tavern—sounds she didn't pay much heed to, assuming them to be the wind. But with their increasing frequency and volume, she could no longer ignore them. When Bella Swan heard the grunts, she darted up from the bed; frozen and listening.

Someone was right outside the back of the tavern.

She knew it was her solemn duty to investigate. Bella was a curious young woman and, as many times before, she disregarded her own safety.

The door leading to the hallway—past the kitchens and to the same entry where she had entered hours before—beckoned. She licked her lips and stepped forth; the palms of her hands sweaty in anticipation. Bella turned the handle; the conversation in the front room as lively as ever. It seemed none of the guests or the staff in the tavern would get some rest as they were actively analyzing what had just transpired.

The tumult served as a perfect cover as she snuck out of Lucy's room and down the narrow hallway until reaching the scrawny back door. Bella cast a swift glance behind her, making sure she was not followed, lest she be reprimanded by Lucy or Joe and locked into her room. Her hand gripped around the wooden pommel and turned it. She flinched when the door squeaked slightly—something she hadn't paid any mind to when she'd been coming and going earlier.

The chilly night air hit her face like a brick as she stepped outside and Bella shivered from the cold, regretting she hadn't looked around Lucy's room for another shawl. The dust from the presumed explosion was still settling and she coughed as she inhaled her first breath of it.

The grunts came from her left and Bella froze when her head turned in that direction. She stood on the threshold, wondering if it was still a good idea to leave. But what if it was a soldier that was wounded? Or maybe worse…what if someone like Jacob had been hit by the earlier gunshots? The young woman mustered her courage as she stuck her chin up and took her first step out into the mystery of the night. Again the thunder roared in the distance.

She waded through the blinding smoke, listening to something which might indicate to her where the presumed person was.

Bella saw—in a corner by the sheds adhered to the tavern, right next to the stables—a figure on the ground. She grabbed the skirt of her dress as she gasped. Yet her feet kept dragging her forward. The young woman kept nearing the figure, which she could not yet discern. It was hard to see it through the cloud of dust. She only saw dark muted colors partly illuminated by the silver lights of the moon as they tried in vain to break through the dust.

She heard the grunts and winces again as the figure sat up. Bella hurried to get closer, for now, she knew he had to be wounded. "H-hello?" she whispered.

It froze as it discerned her silhouette through the smoke.

Bella neared further, now shaking, afraid of what she might stumble upon. She refrained from speaking until she got closer, her knees wobbly and weak enough for her to almost drop when she saw who was in that corner.

It was what she had feared. Cullen lay in a heap, gasping, the top of his black shirt unbuttoned, some blood smeared over his exposed skin, mingling with perspiration. "N-no," Bella Swan breathed with a waiver to her voice as she rushed to him.

He was leaning against the wooden façade of the tavern, holding his side, a slightly cloudy look in his eyes. But he was still conscious. "Miss Swan," he said in recognition as he saw her. "F-fancy meeting y-you here," he winced. His breaths were shallow, his voice very frail. The usual depth and velvety charm it held was all but gone. It was so weak, so unbecoming of him.

She was down on her knees next to him. "Where did they hit you?" she asked, trying to search his body for the obvious wound. She saw the sweat run down his exposed chin and upper chest. Bella bit down her teeth hard, trying to see past the picture of defeat that he presented and rather tried to be as distant emotionally as possible.

He looked at her, the cloud in his eyes growing, the emerald sparkle fleeting away. She took his masked face between her hands, forcing him to look at her. "No, you must stay awake, Cullen!" she urged him, but he was slipping.

In the moments that Edward seemed to be losing consciousness, his eyes drifted to something behind her. Bella froze, realizing there was someone standing behind them.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger :3**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	26. Chapter 26

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 26_

The smoke was everywhere. It appeared more as a battlefield, where muskets and pistols had been fired, rather than the peaceful Hayes she had grown up in. His gasping breath hit her face as she searched his shaking body in the relentless chill of the night.

Bella had yet to find a wound but tried desperately to keep Edward awake. She had never seen him so frail, so broken down. Cullen was the very image of strength and resilience. To see him crumpled in a corner had her mind spinning.

It was hard to breathe, her lungs worked twice as much as she almost gasped in between breaths. His eyes flickered to something behind her, the previous dullness subsiding as he grew alert and tried in vain to lean forward, only to let out a loud wince as his left hand went to his right side.

"Keep still," she begged in a trembling voice.

Bella turned around, placing her body in front of Edward's once she realized someone was approaching them. "Who goes there!" she urged, pressing her back further into him, willing for him to be invisible.

The dark figure neared until its outline became clearer through the haze. Bella recognized her and thought she'd faint from the relief.

"Who've ya got there, Miss Swan?" Lucy hissed in a broken whisper as a few coughs accompanied her words.

Bella's lip trembled as she turned from Edward to Lucy. There was a moment of uncertainty, a decision that needed to be made. But she knew in who she could trust. "He needs help!" she struggled as she scooted to the side, supporting his heavy frame.

"Lord spare us!" Lucy whispered as she closed in, kneeling down next to them.

"We need to get him off the street, Lucy," Bella rushed, irritated that the burly woman wasn't reacting. "He will be found or bleed out if we just leave him here, _please_," she begged.

"Aye, ya know I aim to help," Lucy mumbled, still not able to take her eyes off the masked man. He was once more slipping into unconsciousness. "But we need him to cooperate. Neither of us is strong enough to lift him inside, and the fewer people involved the better."

Bella turned to Edward, placing her shaking hand on his chin, directing his face to her. She saw the ashen skin of his chin, around his mouth. The sweat still pearled up, but he seemed aware of his situation, to some degree. "Cullen, can you walk?" she asked him.

His emerald orbs were captivated by her moving lips and it was hard to discern every word she had spoken. The blood kept pooling out of the gunshot wound from his side. He could feel the fatigue extend across his body and the cold that came with it.

A sigh escaped him as his head fell into the nook of her neck, losing consciousness.

"Cullen!" she exclaimed as low as possible, shaking him gently. But his eyes remained closed, his face paling by the second. His lips had started turning blue.

"I'm gettin' Joe!" Lucy hastened, getting up and rushing back into the tavern.

Bella was left alone with Edward, holding his limp form against her. She placed her arms around him, for the first time realizing that his life was in peril. "Edward," she whispered trembling against his ear. "Edward you cannot leave," she pleaded as silent tears started streaming down from her face. She thought she'd be crushed from his weight, but she didn't care.

It felt like hours passed by as she held him in her embrace. Every minuscule sound sent her heart pounding away and Bella Swan thought Lucy had abandoned her.

But, like a godsend, Lucy Berg finally reappeared, followed by Joe's muscular form as they neared the pair. Joe's eyes widened, but the humble and discreet man said nothing.

"He has a wound on his right side, be careful with it," Bella urged as he kneeled next to the man.

"Aye, but he be too big. Lucy, ya'll have to help me get 'im on," Joe said. "On my signal."

He took the man in black, slumped against Bella Swan and slowly lifted him against himself. With the help of Lucy, Joe grunted at the strain Edward's weight had on him. He slung the slumped man over his left shoulder. He almost couldn't get up and Bella had no idea how Joe managed, with staggering steps, to move forward with such a big weight on his back.

But move he did, and Bella walked after. Lucy remained, making sure the pool of blood Cullen had left behind was covered up with some spare hay. She took care in sweeping the droplets he left behind in case any soldiers passed by looking for him. Joe hand to hunch down as he entered through the back door and walked past the corridor with minute steps until he finally got into Lucy's room. As he placed the man in black gently into Lucy's bed, the strain on the wound must have awakened him, because Edward let out a large gasp.

Bella rushed to him, taking whatever pieces of cloth she could find in the small space and pressing them against his wound. "Get Dr. Blake, now!" she commanded, not even turning to face Joe. Her eyes were glued to Edward.

"But, Miss Swan—"

"Now! Or he will bleed out!"

It was enough to send Joe running. The moment the door shut and left them alone, she saw his eyes piercing into her form. He was lucid again, lucid enough to understand who she was and even where they found themselves. "You idiot," she mumbled incoherently, thinking he wouldn't hear her.

As she pressed the cloth against his wound, his right hand slowly and tediously came up to her. It took a lot of effort on his behalf, but he ignored the searing pain as he moved his arm. The gloved palm of his right hand came to her cheek, to wipe away some of the tears she had shed. Bella stopped fussing and let him caress her and comfort her in the way he knew best.

"I _am_ an idiot," he agreed in a weak voice. It was breathy and strained, a slight wince to it every so often. "An idiot for causing you these tears."

Bella's mouth dropped slightly; like she wanted to retort him. But she kept quiet and squeezed her eyes shut, leaning into his caress.

Dr. Blake, fortunately, lived on the same square as Lucy. Had he not, the night might have played out very differently. She cast her eyes to the cloth she pressed on the wound. His right abdomen was soaked in blood and the black shirt clung to his skin.

There was still chaos erupting outside, and she hoped the soldiers would not come looking for him. Edward's breath seemed to have calmed down now that he found himself safer.

Bella had never liked the sight and smell of blood, and she ignored her own signs of faintness and paleness at the sight of the dark ruby liquid. But Edward, however, noted it. "You do not have to remain when Dr. Blake comes," he struggled to say, staring at her, growing more tired by the minute.

She huffed. Even in such a state, he thought about her. "I am going nowhere," she retorted. "But I do hope the good doctor finds a cure for that insufferable arrogance you hold. You couldn't have tried to save them at an earlier time? The garrison had enough momentum to prepare for you," she urged, growing agitated, avoiding his eyes.

A chuckle escaped him, but no sooner had it left his lips before he grimaced in pain.

"Edward?" she blurted out in fear that he had torn open the clotting wound.

No sooner had she said his name before his features went stark behind the mask, his head whipped quickly to face her, and his eyes widened as his breath left his body. Then his eyes darkened while his lips pressed together.

The door to Lucy's bedroom opened and Lucy herself ushered in Dr. Blake. His family had been physicians in Hayes since the Middle Ages. Blake had always thought the town as tranquil and liked it that way. But even he could not ignore his burning support for Cullen—whoever he was.

When Joe had snuck into his house and urged him to come to the tavern, Blake thought one of the staff or patrons had been hit by a stray bullet. Indeed, Joe would not say who his patient was, only that it was urgent and that they could not be seen. Blake, the very embodiment of discreetness, had agreed to sneak through the subsiding smoke as it settled after the rampant explosion that had shaken the entire town. At one moment, both men lay low, almost crouching forth, avoiding the few soldiers that had stayed behind. Blake didn't even lift an eyebrow as he was shown to the back of the tavern. He pushed the half-moon spectacles further up his nose and straightened the dark velour coat as he forced the tricorne had further down on his head.

Lucy had urged him to her bedroom, and Dr. Blake was met by a sight he never thought he'd witness in his lifetime. The moment the door was opened, he saw faint silver beams stream through a dirty window, touching the dark form of what he could only suppose to be the same Cullen of whom had been so much speculation. But seated next to him, illuminated by the same light, was Isabella Swan, pressing some blood-soaked linen against his left abdomen, seated on his bedside.

For those who knew of Cadherran history—and the story of Swan and Cullen going back to the sixteenth century—seeing the embodiment of Cullen with Bella next to him was not only bizarre, it sent Blake's jaw off its hinges. For, even if this Cullen was obviously a man of flesh and blood and not a ghost risen from the grave, his presence there with Bella was the very symbol of their province, of a tragic love that was never meant to be. And Blake grew clammy at the thought that if he could not save this man, history would strangely repeat itself.

He did not seem to be the only one to realize such a thing, for Lucy had grown flustered as she kept huffing intangible words.

"Dr. Blake, I fear he has lost a lot of blood," Bella urged. "He was shot here," she pointed, moving aside so the doctor could come closer.

Blake gulped and controlled his conflicting emotions. He rushed in with his bag and placed it on the cot next to them, opening it, revealing tools in metal, flasks, vials, and bandages.

"Has the bleeding stopped?" he asked her. He noted that the man was clammy, the skin that showed had droplets of sweat and he seemed feverish. Blake feared the wound had festered, but that could not be if he was shot recently. He supposed the man had gone into shock.

She lifted the bloodied linen. The wound looked grotesque, and Bella had to turn away from it. But Blake breathed out, it looked worse than it was from all the blood. He was satisfied to see it so caked, which meant the blood had clotted. He turned to the masked man. "Sir?" he began, rather uncertain on how to address him. He couldn't very well say 'general', even though the little boy in him wanted nothing more. "I will need to turn you to make sure the bullet has gone out the other side," he said.

Dark eyes watched him calmly. "Do what you must," the severe voice boomed. Edward's eyes fleeted back to Bella, feeling her look at him.

Blake got up and removed the velour coat and tricorne hat. He gathered his graying reddish-brown hair into a low ponytail and pushed the spectacles up his nose. "Joe!" he hissed to the larger man. "Some help?"

Bella went to sit by Edward's head, and she grimaced as both men slowly started turning him. She could see in the set of his jaw and the glazed expression in his eyes that he was in a lot of pain but unwilling to show it. Both of them heard a suppressed gasp as Edward was gently rolled back to rest on his back.

"The bullet is still inside," Blake muttered, scratching his head.

"Oh, I can't bear watchin' ya dig 'round in his belly!" Lucy exclaimed; her features growing evermore ashen by the minute. She had already seen enough blood.

Blake turned to her. "I'll need hot water—not boiling—your strongest alcohol and some vinegar." He then turned to Joe. "You'll have to help me hold him down when I extract the bullet," Blake said, meticulously working with Edward as he would any other patient. He faced Edward. "I tell you now, sir, this won't be a pleasant experience—"

"Has extracting a bullet ever been pleasant?" Edward mumbled in a wince.

Bella sighed. "Don't get smart with the doctor, Cullen," she urged.

Blake blushed at their nagging. "Miss Swan, you do not need to be here for the extraction—"

Bella Swan's chocolate eyes grew wild with indignation, burning him like a crisp. "Oh, I certainly do, doctor!" she told him. "I am not leaving him."

Edward looked up at her but remained quiet. They moved the cot so that Joe and Blake might have more time. Bella sat down on a stool next to Edward's head, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She started stroking it absentmindedly and the very action seemed to calm him. Lucy soon returned with the things Blake had requested. She got some clothes and said that she herself would go and wash up as not to cause a ruckus. It was only then that Bella noticed the blood that had stained Lucy's nightgown.

In the confined space of Lucy's bedroom were now four people. Blake started cleaning his tools and gave Edward a swig of the alcohol, to numb the pain slightly. Joe was instructed on how to hold him and the doctor gave Edward a piece of wood to hold between his teeth.

He leaned over with a knife. "I will first cut the surface, the entry is too small for my pincers," he explained as he disinfected a sharpened knife in the strong alcohol. Cullen nodded. Bella gripped his shoulder further as Joe pushed down. Blake slowly cut through the tender flesh, but Edward was good at keeping still. His breathing became heavier and his eyes pinched shut as his teeth bit down hard on the wood. Bella's lip quivered at his pain, wishing he did not have to go through it. "I-I am here," she whispered to him. "I am by your side." He relaxed from her words and she saw the pain subside just as Blake finished.

"Good," the doctor mumbled as he cleaned away the blood.

Dr. Blake cast aside the knife and retrieved some small pincers with concaved rounded tips, made specifically to extract bullets. Bella held an oil lamp close enough for Blake to see and they all took a collective breath. "_This_'ll hurt like hell," the doctor said. "But you cannot scream, or the soldiers will hear and come," he said.

Edward, biting down on the piece of wood, nodded. His nostrils flared before his emerald eyes darted to Bella. He took her hand and she accepted it, squeezing it to show that she was there for him.

Blake then, with the sterilized pincers, poured some more of the strong alcohol into Edward's wound. The moment the liquid touched his tender flesh, Edward arched his back at the pain. But he could not go far as Joe held him down, a hard feat since Edward was nearly as strong as him, even in his weakened state. Bella watched in terror as Edward's eyes squeezed and his features twisted in pain, enough to show under the mask. But no sound emerged from his lips, only a faint wince.

Dr. Blake then took the pincers and pushed the torn flesh aside, causing Edward more pain. It was enough to make some stray tears escape his pinched eyes. Blake inserted the pincers and slowly, meticulously, started feeling around. Bella thought Edward would crush her hand, but she kept holding him, comforting him as best she could. Joe was already sweating from the strain of having to hold Edward down.

She closed in with the oil lamp and heard the exclamation of triumph as Blake seemingly grabbed onto something. He took out the bullet and placed it in a metal dish on the cot where he'd laid out the rest of his equipment. The moment the bullet was out, Blake examined it. "It looks whole, no fragments left behind," he muttered.

"He's bleeding too much!" Bella exclaimed in panic. Indeed, the wound that had only trickled some blood as Blake had slowly worked within it, was now almost gushing blood out.

Swiftly, he poured some more alcohol into the wound to thoroughly clean it. But this time, it did not seem to affect Edward, for his expression was hazy yet again. He was losing consciousness as the blood kept running out of him. Joe stepped back now that he was not needed anymore.

Bella removed the wood between his teeth. "Cullen," she said, trying to shake him into a lucid state. But his eyelids grew heavy until he passed out.

The doctor reached for his bag and retrieved a small flask of some type of powder. "Yarrow might do the trick," he muttered, grown flustered. He was _not_ going to be the one responsible for losing Cullen. Blake sprinkled the yarrow powder generously over the wound, watching it soak up the blood and clot. He then applied some linen and waited with Bella. Joe sank down on the floor in a corner and waited with them, all tense, all in silence.

After a few minutes, then the blood was subsiding, Blake cleaned the wound again, sewed it shut and started applying bandages to it.

He settled back in a chair and removed his spectacles; breathing out after almost two hours. "He will live, if the wound does not fester," he said, speaking to Bella. She stared at Edward, laying there in peaceful slumber. They had removed his shirt and she caught sight of his bare torso, noting how lean it was, the shadows of his muscles, some faint scratches here and there, the constant rising and lowering of his naked chest.

"Thank you," she whispered. Bella turned to him. "I hate to be so blatant, doctor, but Joe needs to get you back to your home before the sun rises. If you are seen here, the Royal Guard will get suspicious—" she was about to continue when Lucy returned, dressed for the day. They were mere hours away from sunlight.

"The lancers," she urged. She had a fleeting look on her face; worry and agony. "They say they killed him!"

"Killed who?" asked Joe as he got up.

"Cullen!" Lucy exclaimed, pointing at him. She walked in and regarded him, sleeping soundly, his breaths heavy, his form relaxed. "Poor lad," she sighed.

Blake was packing together his belongings. "I'll do as you say, Miss Swan. You are right, being seen here will only bring more problems." Then he pointed at Cullen. "But having him remain here is equally as problematic. Yet I fear he will not move for some time."

"We must tell Hayes he is not dead!" Lucy continued.

Bella stood up hastily. "We cannot, for then the soldiers and Captain Forster will wonder how we got such information!" She turned to face Edward. "Hayes will have to live thinking he perished until he is well enough to confront the lancers again."

They all looked at him. "Ya do not think morale will drop?" Joe asked.

"The farmers got away from what I understand," Lucy added.

"That will keep Hayes going for now," Bella agreed.

Blake rolled down the sleeves of his shirt and placed the tricorne hat on, together with the frock. He wiped the last of the bloodstained water from his hands. "I leave him in your hands now, Lucy, Miss Swan. His bandages will have to be redressed daily for the next week. He should come to see me within the fortnight to look at the stitches," the doctor said, packing together his belongings but taking care in leaving behind some fresh bandages.

"I'll accompany ya back to yer home," Joe said, leaving with Blake. The doctor stood hesitant in the doorway, regarding how Miss Swan still remained by Cullen's sleeping side.

"Light foods, no alcohol" he muttered, eyeing Lucy. And with that, he was gone.

It was only Lucy and Bella who remained behind with Cullen. Wordlessly they started cleaning up, for Lucy's bedroom looked like a complete bloodbath had taken place. Bella noted that her lavender gown was soaked as well. She borrowed a fresh nightgown and placed a shawl about her shoulders while Lucy took to cleaning her gown. Bella would have to rush home as soon as she could and explain to her parents that she had been detained in the Goose. Then there was the matter on how to get Edward home.

Slowly the hours ticked by, the night sky getting lighter and lighter as dawn approached. The smoke had died down entirely, yet Edward still slept. She pulled the covers higher to cover his naked torso.

At some point, when the golden rays of a rising sun penetrated through the dirty window, shining into his eyelids, did he stir.

He was disoriented at first, looking around, until finding her sitting on a small stool. Bella Swan caught the golden sheen of a shy morning, trapped in its resplendent sunlight. She bore a white nightgown, too big for her lithe form with a gray woolen shawl about her shoulders. Her hair was down, all swept to the side and her chocolate eyes were steadfast on him. The orbs were deep, intense, flowing with unspoken words.

For a moment, as their eyes met, the world stopped for them. Bella and Edward were caught up in those few seconds, looking at one another, studying the other's expression.

Her heart pounded madly in her chest, her pulse roared in her ears, her cheeks grew flustered and her eyes glazed over. "You almost died," she whispered. Somewhere water trickled in a steady rhythm.

Despite it all, that charming smile etched its way into the corner of his mouth, his eyes gleaming as he looked at her with his head tilted to the side on the pillow. "And you saved me," he responded tiredly.

Her lips trembled as she nodded, clasping her hands as if thanking a higher power that she had been at the right place at the right time. Bella understood that she was meant to be at The Laughing Goose that night. "Do you know if they all got away?" she asked.

"Jacob led them to safety," he nodded. "Miss Swan—" he began but cut himself short. They knew more than enough about one another. Saying her name in such a way felt unnecessarily formal to him. "Bella." He cleared his voice, letting it settle to its normal state. It was still sweet, running smoothly like honey, caressing her ears gently. It still managed to make her knees weak and her heart soar. But it was not as deep, nor mysterious, indeed. And, yet, it rasped with a hint of fatigue, showing the strain he surely had to be feeling within his body.

Before Edward could continue, Bella interrupted him, not wishing to speak of the subject she was certain he was heading for. "Dr. Blake says you should redress those bandages daily and that," she fiddled restlessly. "If you can, should seek him out within the fortnight to have the stitches removed, and—"

"Bella," he said again, trying to sit up but bit back a sharp hiss as his battered abdomen said otherwise. Edward slumped back into the bed. He was tired. "You know," he said. He was so tired.

She faltered for a second, standing in the corner, her eyes darting about the room.

"Yes," she breathed carefully, slowly, hesitantly while meeting his eyes. There was a finality to the word, but no malice outlined it, no irritation, no sense of mistrust or even anger.

"I had expected you to lash out at me, some fiery exclamations, maybe even tears. But not this…calm."

"Why should I be angry?"

"Anger," he sighed, a sense of defeat etching its way into his bearing. "Anger usually goes with disappointment."

The waft of baking bread reached them in turn with the town waking up from the aftermath of that night's occurrences. When she bathed in the gaze of his green forest orbs, Bella got the sense that summer had finally arrived. "I…understand why you kept up this façade."

Those same green orbs, whose warm intensity had regarded her a second earlier, darted away from her.

"I admit that I was surprised at first." Bella chewed her lip, her demeanor calm. "You played both your roles rather well." Her faint tone subdued. Other noises seemingly invaded them as Hayes awoke and daily life settled into its mundane rhythm. There was a normalcy which broke through their strange situation, and it comforted them both to see that despite the strangeness of their current predicament, the same old Hayes would wait for them beyond the walls of Lucy's chamber.

A shadow stretched about the room. Much hung unspoken in the air, much that needed to be said. She knew he looked at her, his eyes going through every little inch of her rigid frame. "Not…_everything_ was a masquerade, Bella."

Flustered, she got up with her back to him. "Oh, come now, Edward. I've unmasked you. There is no need to be teasing me so anymore!" The impact of hooves on cobblestone mingled with rolling carts. Conversation flowed from the main dining room of the tavern. She discerned the rustling in the kitchens as the day's meals were being prepared. The clang of pots and pans muffled through the wooden walls and door. The small room grew even smaller as she thought her back would catch fire with him behind her.

She could hear his sharp intakes of breath as he shifted in the bed, as he changed his position. "You know what I speak of."

"No," she whispered, afraid, wanting to flee yet strangely rooted in place. Within her raged a conflict. She remained standing steadfast, eyes glued to the door, wondering if she could flee her current situation.

"Look at me." It wasn't an order, only a neutral statement. "Please." His tone softened and she could not resist. Bella turned to face him. He was half-way out of the bed but stopped, holding his abdomen. She looked at the pitiful picture of a defeated and wounded warrior—making her aware of his humanity: Edward could bleed like the rest of them. Edward could also die like the rest of them, something he had almost come close to last night. She was reminded of the fact that she had almost lost him, and that very thought sent a jolt of pain through her so intense that she felt faint.

"You kissed me back," he said with a certain finality. "You kissed me back," he breathed, falling back into bed. It was his assurance of their relation.

Edward had strained himself too hard.

"I…" she tried to answer with a shaken voice. There was no denying it. "Aye."

He shut his eyes. "Aye," he mimicked in a strained mumble laced with fatigue.

Bella watched him for a moment, as his eyelids grew heavier and heavier, stared at his bared torso rising and sinking slower and slower. She went to pick up the covers, dragging them up over his sleeping form.

She knew why she had kissed him back. She supposed such feelings had been developing within her for a long time, and she had tried to ignore them. "I kissed you back," she murmured, pouring a cup of water for him.

But he had already fallen asleep.

Lucy stepped in and out a few times during the early morning. The Laughing Goose worked as usual and nothing seemed amiss. That the most searched for outlaw of the county hid in the back, would never have crossed anyone's mind. But there he lay, soundly asleep, under the watchful eye of Isabella Swan.

He came too when the hour had passed nine and all Hayes now believed Edward Cullen dead. While the soldiers cleaned up the square and garrison after the aftermath of the confrontation, the citizens all gathered to watch, some feeling their hope dwindle. Captain Forster, even if not having had found the body, was smug and tranquil now that the bastard seemed gone. He and Wilson, while having lost the five farmers, had felt it a just exchange to get rid of the pestering man who had been irritating them for so long.

"I need to get back home before my family starts wondering about my whereabouts," he said to her in a groggy voice.

Bella startled on the cot, whipping her head to meet him where he laid. "How will you explain your…absence to them?"

"I am certain Rosalie has concocted another brilliant lie for me to tell," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. His right hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Rosalie?" Bella's jaw dropped to the floor. "Your sister _knows_?" she inched forward to whisper.

He arched an eyebrow at her under the mask. "She has been helping me keep the ruse of the idiotic peacock well and alive."

She settled back on the cot, flabbergasted at the new bit of information.

"Bella, you must make a message arrive to her. She will have Joseph deliver me a spare change of clothes and retrieve my things from the tavern. I rented a room for the night," he told her with urgency.

"You are in no condition to even be standing!" she blurted out. "How on earth will you manage to get back to your house without causing a ruckus?"

"You are not helping by pointing out all the flaws in my plan," he deadpanned.

Chocolate brown eyes flickered to and fro, watching him in such a weakened state. "Lucy has washed and mended your shirt," she mumbled.

He settled back in the bed, his hand clutching his right side, his lips pressed together. Those lips, soft against her, touching her in a way she had never been touched before. She had kissed those lips. Bella could already sense the flush creeping up her throat. It didn't help that his upper body was bare.

There were thoughts running through his head, painful thoughts, from the look of it. A subject she would not breach.

"I…will send a message," she gave up. She wanted to see him safe. "I do not know how you will _not_ arise suspicion, maybe this is the time to tell your family evertyh—"

"No!" he lashed out as he tensed to sit up. His aversion to the idea came out so strongly that he gave out a painful cry as he shifted the weight of his body with his core, straining his abdomen.

Bella quickly rushed to his side, pushing on his left shoulder to lay back in the bed. "Careful!" she said, her eyes wide with worry. "Did you tear your stitches?" she asked, fussing over him. She pulled the covers down and examined his bandages.

As she fussed over him, so clearly concerned with his well-being, Edward could only stare at her, at the woman that had been present in his mind lately. He was mesmerized by her every movement and didn't realize the look that crept into his eyes, or the small genuine smile touching his lips.

"Nothing looks torn, but you shouldn't move…so…hastily," she trailed off as she caught the way in which he regarded her.

It was the same way her father looked at her mother, or how Jasper and Alice would stare at one another.

And now Edward looked at her in that way. For, now that she knew his secret, he seemed to let down his guard completely. Even with the mask still on, she could clearly perceive the expression on his face.

Her sudden pause made him clear his voice and look away. "Tis fine, really," he mumbled. "The message, for Rosalie," he reminded.

"Ah, yes, yes." She got up. "The message." Bella gathered her skirts and rushed out of the room. The moment she shut the door she had to take a moment in the hallway, leaning against the wall, pressing her hand to her chest, feeling the frantic beating of her heart, the heat washing over her.

She wrote the letter, as Edward instructed, asking that Rosalie send Joseph with a fresh pair of clothes for her brother. She did not say who she was as a sender, to lessen the questions that might stir. She gave it to one of the kitchen maids when Lucy wasn't paying attention. The Laughing Goose had been open for a little over three hours, and the past hour had been filled to the brim ever since the barricades had been moved and the townspeople were allowed to enter the square again.

She waited for Joseph at the back of the tavern. When the elegant butler came up to her, he knew instantly that it had been she who had sent the letter. He uncharacteristically ran his hand through his graying black hair. "Is he alright?" the man asked frantically. "T-they keep saying that he was killed!"

"Joseph," Bella urged, taking the leather bag from his hands. "He is as good as one can be when one has been shot," she whispered.

There where pedestrians passing by, but none paid them much attention.

"Shot?!" Joseph blurted out.

"Shhhh! When he gets back home, he will explain everything. You will have to assist him, however, for he has difficulty walking."

The older man nodded, wringing his hands. "I have a carriage waiting just behind the corner by the baker. Most people are flocking still to the front of the tavern and the square, he will not be noticed," Joseph said. "While he dresses, I will retrieve his things from his room in the inn."

A strong nod was all the young brunette gave him before running back in. Joseph stared after her as the too big white nightgown flowed in the soft spring wind.

She entered and walked up to Edward. "Joseph is here!" She placed the bag next to him.

He stared at the clothes and then at her. "I _hate_ to ask but…"

"Y-you can change yourself!" she uttered, backing away from him.

"I can barely move my right side."

His eyes darted from her to the bag of clothes. She started chewing on her lip and fiddling with her hands. With a sound of irritation and defeat, Bella Swan locked the door and then walked up to him. She would have to be quick, in case Lucy or someone else decided to walk in on them only to find the door barricaded.

"The mask first," he mumbled, staring at her.

"You cannot even take that off?"

"I can barely raise my right arm above my shoulder," he answered dryly.

"You will have to sit up first."

With much effort, grunts, winces and even some curses, both were sweating when Edward finally sat up in the bed, nauseated from the strain. He did not wish to alert her how bad he felt. The act of sitting had drained him completely.

She was about to move on, but he asked her for a moment to catch his breath. Thus, Bella sat next to him, holding him steady by the shoulders so that he wouldn't slump over. He was sweating again, despite it being so cool in the room. "Maybe you should stay here a while longer," she suggested after taking a closer look at him. "I'm sure Lucy wouldn't mind."

"I must return, or my father will wonder where I am, and my absence will raise suspicion."

It dawned on her the weight his secret had to be putting on his shoulders. It seemed a very lonely secret, even if he shared it with his sister and Joseph. And, now, her as well.

Finally, he took a few deep breaths and nodded for her to continue. Bella's hesitant hands came up to the base of his neck at the back of his head, resting on the knot that tied his mask shut. She leaned in and started undoing it, unaware of how close she was getting to him. Even now he smelled of the forest, of sandalwood and pine. Her touch was timid, careful, almost loving, he thought. Bella's breath hitched in her throat as the knot of the laces came undone and she started undoing the mask.

The act was strenuous on her for some reason, almost forbidden. She was Pandora, opening the box that was supposed to remain sealed. The act felt wrong. She was exposing the face behind the myth. But her hands didn't stop, Edward didn't stop her. She knew he was watching her intently; every minuscule detail of her reaction.

The laces were undone, and she dragged the mask from his head, revealing his face before her.

But it wasn't Edward Masen.

Surely, this man could not be him. Edward Masen was a pompous peacock that proudly had his nose up in the air, his hair perfectly curled against his temples, his face powdered white and rouge on his cheeks. Her body took over and her fingers started trailing over these new features she had seen but never _truly_ seen.

The arrogant and smug expression was gone. She saw past the façade, saw the real Edward that had been hiding behind both Masen and Cullen.

It was a face that opened to her, honest, clear, calm, inviting. The straight nose, the squared jaw, the expressive eyebrows, the full lips. He was so handsome, and she had never noticed. He was handsome enough to take her breath away, but it wasn't what threw her off. She finally saw the true Edward, the hints of him she had perceived as they spent time together.

His dark copper curls tumbled into his eyes and she swallowed at the boyish grin that touched his face. "Not what you expected?" he grinned faintly.

Remembering herself, she retrieved her hand and put the mask aside, clearing her voice. "Yes, it is the same face I remember," she answered, flustered. Bella fished around the bag and retrieved a frilly pressed shirt in linen. Her nose wrinkled at the familiar style in which he dressed. She helped him put the shirt.

When she fished out the trousers, Bella blushed madly.

"I will _not_ help you put these on!" she said, throwing them at him.

He snorted and grabbed the bright blue trousers. "Will you help me take off the ones I'm wearing?" he asked in a sultry voice.

She hopped away from the bed and pointed an accusing finger at him. "Have some modesty, sir!"

He tilted his head to the side. "Why, I could say the same for you, madam." He leaned in. "I've seen you eyeing my bared torso the whole morning," he smirked. "And I do not think _modest_ thoughts were running through your mind when—"

"Do not vex me so!" she spat back with a lack of counterargument.

"But I do so love vexing you," he blinked.

"Argh!" she let out, frustrated. When Edward let out a small burst of amused laughter through his nose, she understood that he was teasing her. "I will help you _partly_ remove your trousers. You will have to do the rest yourself."

"Only a heartless woman would have an invalid dress himself," he tsked.

"You are not an invalid," she spat back, rolling her eyes. Bella neared him, staring at his trousers. The black fabric hugged the outline of his legs; thus it was tight against his skin. The very notion of touching him below his waistline had her grow red and faint. But she would not voice it.

Bella sat next to him and helped undo the sash and pull the waist of his trousers down. Thankfully his shirt covered him, but he could not or rather, would not, bend down to take off the rest of the garment. Thus, she finally found herself dragging it off as he winced while she tugged. The black pants did come off eventually, with Bella sitting in a heap on the floor and Edward almost bent over in pain, wondering if he had not torn a stitch.

Putting on the bright blue trousers was easier and soon the whole outfit was on him. Bella wrinkled her nose at it as she carefully buttoned up the dusty yellow waistcoat. "Has anyone ever told you these colors clash?" she muttered as he pulled up the sleeve of his dark green velour frock.

"Rosalie and Joseph," he muttered. "Constantly. But the more they clash, the better," he sighed. "It makes me look all the more the fool."

Bella clasped her hands together as he corrected the frills and started aligning his hair flat to his head with the wax Joseph had provided in the bag. "You do not have to be a fool, Edward."

Meticulously he kept at his hair, a sadness spreading on his features. "A fool is overlooked and never taken seriously. It is…safer to be the dandy and taken for a fool."

"I am certain it has its price." She knew the regard Carlisle had for his son. Oh, but if he only knew who Edward truly was.

"You have no idea."

He had applied some powder and rouge to his face. The disguise was complete. But she could not unsee the man who had been present before. He was still there, in his bearing, in his eyes, in his presence.

She had stuffed his other clothes in the bag. "Are you ready?" she asked.

Edward placed the cocked hat on his head and gave a stiff nod. With great effort, she helped him up to stand. With a cane, she helped him to the door. They had been left alone by Lucy. Bella was certain the innkeeper would have a myriad of questions for her the next time she returned. For anyone who had been present as Edward had been patched up, could discern that there was something between her and Cullen.

She unlocked the door and looked out, making sure the corridor was empty. She ushered him out, but he moved in a slow pace. "You cannot hide that you've been wounded," she told him as his larger frame leaned on her for support.

"I'll have to play drunk when I return," he mumbled in a faint voice. She knew he had to be suffering but tried to hide it.

Soon, they reached the door that took them out of the inn and to where Joseph was waiting on them. When he saw that Edward was alive and well, he rushed up to him.

"I thought you were done for!" he exclaimed as he went up to support him.

"Not the side, not the side!" Edward grimaced through the pain.

"He was shot there," Bella added. "Where is the carriage?"

Joseph took them to the end of the street, all the while, making sure no eyes were on them. Both helped Edward up and when he had settled, he turned to Bella. "Make your way home and stay there. These next few days will see unrest, I am certain."

As Joseph urged the horses, a myriad of questions sprung to mind. "What about Mr. Ridge's evidence?" she shouted, but they were already gone. She cleared her voice and rushed back to the tavern.

* * *

Bella had not even set one foot inside the mansion when she was bombarded by familiar faces. A thousand questions flew left and right until she was taken to her mother. Renée's eyes were red and her face generally puffy. She embraced her daughter for too long. "I thought Captain Forster had thrown you into a cell!" her voice trembled with sobs, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. "And no word! Isabella Marie Swan, I ought to have you locked in your chamber for the rest of your life!"

Charles Swan stood wordlessly behind his wife. They allocated to the parlor to be left alone from the inquisitive servants. When Renée calmed down and Bella had recovered from the shock of seeing her mother so distraught, her father finally spoke.

"Where were you?" She had never heard his tone so loaded, yet so calm. Bella was certain, her father had never before been so furious with her.

"I…" she had gone over the excuse many times in her head. "I went to see Lucy, some hours before they were to close off the square, thinking I had enough time. But when I was to ride back, the soldiers had already mounted the barricades and would not let me pass. There was no way I could send word." Her words and expressions were genuine. "Forgive me, papa!" Bella pleaded.

His demeanor softened when he saw his daughter's pleading face. "Your mother was worried sick, Bella!" Charles shot up from his chair, pacing the room; something he always did when he was distraught or unnerved.

Bella walked over to him, taking his hands in hers. "Papa, I was safe, Lucy kept me in her room, away from the front. I never saw what happened in the garrison," she comforted, turning to her mother. Renée had wiped her tears.

Her father's hand trailed up from her hands to the sleeves of her dress. "Why is your dress damp?" he asked.

Her posture grew stale. Damnation, she thought. Lucy had taken great lengths in cleaning out the bloodstains left after Edward had been sewn back together. But it was too much to ask that the muslin gown would dry completely in just a few hours, even hanging above the kitchen fires. She swallowed hard. "I spilled some wine when I had my supper last night."

"Indeed?" he muttered, stepping away from her. He had seen through her, knowing it was not the entire truth to her story.

"Papa, I know I just came back home, and that Hayes is disoriented with the attack on the garrison. However, I need to change and return to Lucy's. I didn't pay for my lodging or food and I forgot my riding gloves."

Renée rushed over to her daughter. "You are _not_ leaving this house, Bella! Forster is out for blood after news that Cullen was shot and killed. They are still trying to find the body."

This, of course, was already known to Bella. She knew that Cullen had been shot, yet he had survived. "What?" she forced herself to exclaim. "No, that cannot be!"

"I am certain the captain is exaggerating, my sweet," her mother cooed, taking her in her arms. "But I do not want you near that man. He is growing…unstable," she shivered. "Charles, you must speak to Wilson about this. Collins has proven passive; you must gather some of the other families with some say here and have Wilson _do_ something for a change. This is turning into a warzone!"

"Mama," Bella urged. "Mama, I know you worry. But if I remain locked in the house, I will feel worse."

Charles still eyed his daughter with suspicion. "Renée, my love, leave us. I would speak to our daughter in private."

Bella paled; she had never felt so mistrusted by her father before. He kept still, eyeing her with poise as his lips pressed together and his eyes squinted slightly.

Renée knew that when her husband wished to speak with their daughter alone, it was usually critical. Maybe he was set on changing Bella's mind by himself. "I will have Dory prepare you some early lunch," she said, walking away.

When the door was shut, Charles started pacing the room. "You should be familiar with how quickly gossip spreads in this town," he told her, keeping his face away. Every so often, he'd stop and twirl the mustache. The rug muted the severe impact of his boots upon the hardwood floor.

"I think Hayes is the worst town in Angloa when it comes to gossip," she muttered.

"Do not get smart with me, young lady!" he sprung toward his only daughter. She looked at him sheepishly. Her hair was in a disarray, her gown still damp and wrinkled, her face pale and her lips parted. Her eyes wide and uncertain, her hands itching to fiddle with her skirt—something she always did when he reprimanded her.

"I do not understand, papa," she whispered. "My detainment in The Laughing Goose was inevitable. But I was under the strict eye of Lucy, I promise—"

Charles proceeded to pace again, scratching his head, running his hand through his hair. He had removed the dark maroon frock and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his waistcoat.

"Then explain to me why you escorted what looked like a rather drunk Edward Masen out from _the back entrance_ of The Laughing Goose in nothing but a nightgown?"

She thought she'd grow sick as her stomach dropped and her skin turned into gooseflesh. Bella found no words at first. "H-how did you know?"

"How?" he flailed with his arms; his face grown red as he rushed up to her. "How indeed when you were so completely indiscreet! If your mother knew she'd faint from the scandal. And what a scandal! Robert saw you, together with a servant of the Masen household. Be lucky they have both sworn to keep silent!"

"It is not what you think!" she retorted with a trembling voice.

Charles Swan grimaced in pain. "Out of all the men, Bella, _Edward bloody Masen_? The peacock you were too good for?"

"Papa, there is no scandal!"

"Indeed, this will not go beyond our or Masen's walls. But the fact remains that it _did_ happen!" he growled. He ran his hands through his hair again, bending over and leaning against the couch. "Oh, I feel faint," he muttered, pinching his eyes shut.

Oh dear, Bella thought. This was not good. "Mr. Masen did spend the night at the inn, but Lucy can attest that he was in another room. I was in her room the entire night, I promise you!"

"Let us hope she is vocal with that, for otherwise, you will have to pray Mr. Masen marries you to save your reputation."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews on the last chapter! I am sorry for the cliffhanger, I hope this chapter makes up for it!**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	27. Chapter 27

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 27_

The whole family had gathered in the entryway to the Masen townhouse. Carlisle Masen had not slept the entire night. He had not slept well ever since arriving in Hayes, to think of it. When Bella Swan had brought up the imprisonment of the Black family, and he called on Mr. Johnson, Carlisle had found out the real trouble the town found itself in. He had sworn that he wouldn't rest until Captain Forster was put behind bars. When Ridge had died, when Collins arrived, and Cullen escalated his taunts and affronts to the garrison, Carlisle searched intently. Ridge had confided in him that he held some information mere days before his death. When Carlisle found out that Lionel Wilson was involved in the complot, maybe even behind the unfortunate state of Hayes, he had truly grown weary of his and his family's safety.

Maybe that was why he had grown so angry at seeing his son arriving the same morning of Cullen's latest daring rescue, looking severely hungover and dismissive. Rosalie helped her brother into the house, hunched over, trying to avoid being seen. Carlisle stopped the siblings in their tracks.

Hayes was, for the better lack of a word, in chaos. Rumors of Cullen's death floated about, Captain Forster boasted of his power for all to hear. One of Carlisle's own servants had seen Edward leaving The Laughing Goose while Bella Swan helped his drunken state into a carriage _in nothing but a nightgown_. Carlisle sensed the scandal a mile away and it pained his heart that his only son had been drinking and chasing skirts during the night while better men had risked their lives.

Edward Masen's face was flushed, pearls of sweat making trails through the rouge and white powder, the gelled hair against his temples losing its grip. He looked like a dead man walking and Carlisle almost had a mind to let him recover from his night of drinking—almost.

Esmeralda wrung her hands as she took in the state of her son. Alice pressed her lips together, refusing to look at the state of her brother and Jasper and Emmett silently shook their heads at their brother-in-law.

Carlisle walked up to his son with decisive steps, his hands behind his back and his lips twitching in anger. An urge to hit him overwhelmed him, but he kept his hands steady. "Where were you?" The tone of his voice was dangerously low, rough, strained, filled to the brim with ire.

Edward swayed on Rosalie's arm. To anyone else it still looked like he was drunk. Rosalie knew it not to be the case. She knew that the longer her brother was upright, the bigger the chance that his wound would tear open and he would bleed out. She had urged him to reveal his secret to their father, but he had blatantly refused, saying it would not improve things.

"The Goose," he mumbled through the pain, refusing to make eye contact.

"With whom?" Carlisle inquired.

"Half of Hayes," Edward muttered in a nasal drawl. Despite his state, he still kept the act up, although he realized it might be better to end it soon; if he dared. He didn't know if he could ever look his family in the eye and reveal that he had lied to them for the past year.

"Do not get smart with me!" Carlisle roared with such force that it sent both siblings back. Edward winced. His head was killing him, the wound grew fragile under the bandage; as if the sewn together skin would rip at any time. He squeezed his eyes shut and worked through the pain.

"I took a small room to better be able to see the events," he whispered.

"More like you took a backseat to behold a spectacle, did you? Better men risked their lives while you sipped your port and rested comfortably… and _meddled_ where you shouldn't have. I ought to disinherit you here and in this instant!"

"Papa!" Rosalie exclaimed.

For the first time, Edward looked up, meeting his father's golden eyes with his emerald ones, fighting hard to keep the act up. He had gone too far with his masquerade and he was paying the price now.

"If I could rest, father, I will surely be in a better state to explain—"

"You will explain the time you spent with Isabella Swan!" a broken voice echoed behind Carlisle. Edward's breath hitched in his throat at his mother's words. She had always been rather passive as her husband bashed on him. But hearing the disappointment and hint of anger lacing her words hurt him more than his father's bantering. Much more.

Esmeralda stepped forth, standing next to her husband, looking at her son. She kept her composure but couldn't help but clench her fists. "You will tell me that you did _not_ spend the night with Miss Swan—"

"I did not," he lied, looking up at her through gritted teeth. He looked over at Alice and saw that she had tears in her eyes. "She merely helped me out to the carriage as I could not go myself this morning."

"Do you know how that looks?" Esmeralda lashed out. "Do you know what a scandal you could have involved her in if anyone except their stablemaster and Jensen had seen you? And on the night Cullen might have been _shot_ to death while saving five men from the gallows? I do not know you anymore, Edward." The tears ran now, and he could not bear to look at his crying mother.

The only comfort he held was Rosalie's comforting hand on his upper arm as she squeezed it.

"There is no scandal!" he defended himself. Edward's heart started racing. He'd hate to think that he'd drag Bella's name down because of his folly. He should have had Joseph come and get him instead of her helping him out.

"Mama, papa, he is in no state to be questioned," Rosalie defended. "Let him go to his room and sleep the worst of the hangover off. When he is clearer of mind, he will surely explain everything to us. Yelling at him like this will solve nothing."

Edward squeezed his eyes shut and thanked God for his sister as the voice of reason.

"Get him out of my sight," Carlisle sneered. Esmeralda turned into her husband's embrace as her son was helped up the stairs by Rosalie and Joseph. Alice refused to look at her brother. Jasper pressed his lips together while Emmett frowned, still not understanding why his wife always defended her brother.

They finally got Edward into his room and he slumped down on the bed, in a dizzy state, close to fainting from the pain. Joseph rushed to his side and tore away the clothes, revealing the bandaged abdomen. Rosalie stared at her weakened brother with her hand covering her mouth and her eyes glazed. A few small spots of blood appeared on the white linen and Joseph sighed.

"You must've torn some stitches," he told Edward.

"Get me out of this ridiculous costume and then you can redress the wound and close it up again," Edward muttered. "And get me some brandy to dull the pain," he winced.

Rosalie kept staring passively as Joseph removed the layers of clothes that made up the dandy, wiped away the makeup, and pushed the hair away from his face. She finally saw her real brother beneath it all, his bared torso looking battered with bruises forming here and there. But her eyes were drawn to the right side of his abdomen, to the frightening looking bandages covering him. She knew he had almost died and didn't know how much more she could take of his nightly escapades.

"Joseph, go get some fresh bandages, will you?" she mumbled as she went to the bed to sit next to her brother.

Joseph left without a word, shutting the door behind him. Rosalie sat, passive, as the sunrays pressed through the windows, one stood open, letting the fresh air filter in. Edward kept fixed on the sounds, scents, and sights passing by outside.

"Isn't it time, Edward?" his sister asked in a thick voice, folding her hands neatly in the lap of her mint green gown.

They had had this conversation many times.

He lied there, passive, silent, listening to the chirping birds, the sigh of spring mingling into summer. He remembered the tumult of the night, the smoke, the fights, his brave men, his brave Bella. Their time together. She knew now. And she had not been angry.

"You didn't wish to tell mama or papa because you didn't wish for them to worry about you. But isn't this worse on them?" Rosalie begged. "The way papa looks at you, the way he speaks to you—"

"This is worse," her brother agreed, staring off to the side, avoiding her eyes. "But telling mother…she would sit up and wait for me to return home, having sleepless nights wondering if I was still alive whenever I rode out; as you do. Telling Alice would have her cry her eyes out with worry after getting over the initial shock." He turned to look at her. "But they would eventually understand. But father?" He shook his head. "I think I have gone too far with him and I believe he would never forgive such a lie, he would never forgive me for having brought such shame upon this family, for having sullied the name of Masen, acting as I have." He stopped speaking as his throat closed up.

"No!" Rosalie urged, leaning forward. "Papa would understand, he would eventually see reason—"

"I am afraid!" Edward snapped. "Afraid of his reaction, afraid of what he will think of me after it is revealed I acted this way on purpose to throw the entire family off. I…do not think he'd ever forgive me."

"Is this better? His contempt for you grows, you two only drift further apart, Edward. Soon…as you say, it might be too late to turn back. And how will he know then? With your death? And will Alice, and mama?" She trembled as she lashed out at him. "I agreed to help you in this endeavor…but keeping this act up is hurting everybody."

"We know Willard Athar will be here soon, and when I hand over all the information to him about Wilson, Ridge's death and Forster's corruption, it will be over, Cullen can return to the grave."

"What if Mr. Athar is disposed of as well?"

Edward shook his head. "They'd never dare touch the brother of the Duke of Cantabria. I will not let them."

"Neither Wilson nor Forster will go down without a fight."

"It will all culminate to a rather intense end, I should think." Edward settled back in the bed as Joseph stepped inside, holding something in his hand.

"I found this in your sash," he said, holding up a bloodied piece of paper. It was the letter, Edward realized. The same letter Jacob had received from Jessica Stanley through Bella right before he had met him as Cullen in the Grove to ride into town and save the five farmers. He sighed, reaching for it and opening it up, staring at the written words.

The more he read, the more he paled, straightening up and feeling his eyes widen.

"Sir?" Joseph asked as he saw his master's hefty reaction.

Edward's smile widened. "Joseph, the moment Willard Athar arrives in town, you must make it known to me, is that clear?"

"Of course," Joseph bowed without asking any further questions.

* * *

She didn't know what brought her to the stream and the stillness of Raven's Grove. Despite it all, Bella Swan had managed to sneak out of Hayes early one morning, four days after the garrison incident. The people whispered that Cullen was dead, Forster gloated, Collins had started cleaning up the mess after the confrontation at the garrison. He had tried to seek her out, yet she had refused him.

Bella had barely slept, plagued by nightmares of seeing Edward bleeding to death. Her parents had met up with the Masens and talks that she was now to marry the young son resonated in their household.

Marriage.

Despite it all, she didn't consider matrimony with Edward as horrible as her household. She knew him now. She understood him. But she wasn't certain of him. He was a formidable actor, after all. Their union would be another layer in the masquerade and such a reality frightened her. But if there was one thing Bella knew, it was her own feelings toward him. She had stopped trying to suppress them. They were there, real, painfully present; reminding her every waking moment that she could not escape them now.

It had been a year since she had ridden out to Raven's Grove a frisky morning, the dew dotting the greenery. The perfume fresh, inviting. Chirping birds, swaying branches, trickling water, and rustling leaves were the melodic backdrop. It was warmer now. Warm enough for her to discard her outer gown and stand in her shift. Much like a year ago, Bella waded to the water as April munched on the emerald grass.

The young woman didn't react when the icy water touched her skin. She welcomed it, let the coldness wash over her as she waded out further, unwilling to stop until the water reached her waist. She looked out over the dancing water of the stream. The clouds drifted by lazily up in the sky and felt so near that she could almost reach out and touch them. Here she felt free, here she felt safe.

She held her breath and went under the water, taking the season's first dip. When she broke the surface, she felt reborn. She pushed her hair back and sighed. Bella turned around and started moving for the shoreline when she caught sight of a stranger watching her.

Her breath hitched in her throat and she instinctively covered herself, feeling exposed in a chemise that grew nearly transparent. She stared at the man, dressed in torn and worn clothes as he held the reins of a thin and matte-looking horse.

She recognized him, despite the hood covering his features.

He released the reins and pushed the hood back, revealing the handsome face of Edward Masen. Stubble grew on his chin, his hair had tousled, and he was slightly pale. But other than that, he looked healthy, even with the injury she knew him to be having.

Her heartbeat rushed as droplets of water dripped down her hair and skin. Bella was surprised to find him there and blushed madly at being exposed in such a situation.

"I thought I'd find you here," he said, tying the wretched horse to a tree nearby and removing the heavy woolen cape with great strain.

Bella remained hip-deep in water, her chemise hugging the outline of her body, the skin of her shoulders and collarbone exposed. She was at a loss for words until she understood that she was practically naked before him and quickly dipped into the water until it reached her neck.

"W-what are you doing here?" she demanded, still red and flustered.

He stared at her for a moment, tilting his head to the side. "Cornering a forest nymph." A playfully boyish glee followed the statement.

"T-turn around!" she demanded with more force.

"Why?"

"I wish to get out."

He spread his arms with a wince; the glee still firm on his features. "Then, by all means, do not let me stop you."

Her eyes narrowed as she sent him angry glares. "Not until you turn around."

He straightened his posture and crossed his arms. "Then we shall be here for some time, which gives me a wonderful opportunity to breach a subject I'm sure you would have otherwise avoided."

Bella gave out an unladylike snort, shaking her head. "How long did you wait for me to get into the water?"

"Not too long, and you are ignoring my previous statement."

She gritted her teeth. Even with a life-threatening wound, he was as annoying as ever. "Infernal man," she snickered.

He chuckled. Edward pushed his hair back and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. There was a casual way about him; laid-back, relaxed and comfortable that she found so attractive. This man was the true Edward and he had no problem showing it to her.

He regarded her for a moment, the gentle early summer breeze pushing against them, causing ripples in the water. Early morning sighed and Raven's Grove enveloped the couple.

Edward slowly sat down on a boulder with a grimace, close to the shoreline. "I am certain your parents have already mentioned the supposed _scandal_ you and I find ourselves in," he sighed.

"I told them there was no such thing. Hayes doesn't know, anyway. Jessica Stanley only speaks of the night those farmers were rescued. Lucy hasn't mentioned anything and even Mr. Simmons hasn't been spreading any gossip."

"As did I tell mine," he echoed and then arched an eyebrow. "Did yours believe you?"

"No," she muttered, frowning at the water.

"Tomorrow you and your parents will come to our house and my father has found it absolutely essential that we solve this by offering me to marry you."

Another scoff escaped her as she rolled her eyes. "I'm sure our fathers would arrive at such an agreement."

"They are only trying to help you—"

"We did nothing wrong; _I_ did nothing wrong!" she lashed out, shooting up and out of the water. "I cannot marry someone for a lie." She pointed an accusing finger at him, forgetting herself as she started wading toward him. "Do you even _wish_ to marry me? You know very well it could not be undone. Indeed, Mr. Masen, why would you marry someone you didn't…you didn't…" She hesitated to say the last word. "I helped you—helped Cullen because I admire what you have done thus far. But I will not be another player in this masquerade of yours and then live the rest of my life with the consequences…with an affection that was…one-sided," she whispered to herself. She was angry, flustered and almost ready to growl in burning ire, ignoring the morning in Lucy's chamber, forgetting for an instant how he had looked at her. But, deep within, she had to know how he felt. Perhaps that was _where_ her fear stemmed from, the strong feelings slowly emerging within herself and not knowing how to handle them.

Bella stopped before him, completely ignorant of her state of undress. Edward stood up and looked at her calmly not unable to help as his eyes trailed up and down her form. He let her gather her wits before speaking.

His eyes regarded her the same way they had in Lucy's room; the loving look her parents would give one another. It caused her to calm, it spoke more than words ever could. Her breath hitched in her throat as she read the depths of his eyes. She grew warm when she received such a look and understood that his feelings for her were true—had always been true.

"It was never a masquerade to me," he reminded her.

She grew mesmerized by him, drawn in by his eyes, his presence.

Then, without a word, he pulled her into his embrace, pressing his lips to hers, holding her against him. At first, she grew tense, her eyes wide and alarmed. But when she realized that she enjoyed his lips against hers, herself in his arms, she melted into him. Around them, the woodlands sighed at the sight of two lovers entwined in their embrace. She shut her eyes and let herself be taken in by the moment, let him express his feelings for her through the kiss. Sometimes, actions were better than words. Sometimes, that which remained unspoken held much more power.

Bella knew now, what Alice had spoken of. She finally understood the words and wondered how she hadn't noticed it before. Their tongues danced together as the kiss grew more passionate, stirring the butterflies in her lower abdomen, causing a flush to extend itself from the base of her throat all the way up to her cheeks.

He softly ended the kiss, staring straight into her eyes, still holding her firmly in his arms. Bella was at a loss for words, not certain how to react. Her lips were swollen, her eyes wide and water still dripping from her hair.

Her hand went to his cheek, watching every line in his face as if trying to discern who he really was. "You are an enigma to me, Edward Masen," she whispered to him with a frown. "At moments, it feels like I have you figured out; as if I have solved the puzzle." His brow furrowed, copper locks tumbling further into his eyes. "And then I find a whole new layer to you that I didn't see before."

"I know I haven't been honest with you," he mumbled to her, an expression of pain shooting through his features. "I have lied and been deceitful." He looked at her. "To me, when I was with you…as Masen, as Cullen…it was never a lie. I _want_ to be with you. For me, this marriage wouldn't be a ruse, it would be _real: _the only real thing I would experience…save my feelings for you," he mumbled. "I know that after so many lies, trusting my word is—"

Bella shifted, shaking her head slowly and effectively silencing him.

"I…believe you," she cut him short, her hand now resting on his shoulder. "If you say it was true, if you say it was never make-belief then I believe you." They had not been good at communicating, and the confusion had led to misinterpretation on her behalf. She saw the honesty in him, understood that he had let go entirely of the façade for her.

His breath hitched in his throat at her words, at the honesty in them. She slowly stepped away from him, hugging her shivering body. "I…trust you."

He had never given her a true reason to do so, yet she placed her faith in him. But she had given him more than enough reason to trust her. "Regardless, I will not push you into anything," he nodded. "Tomorrow you make your own decision and I shall support whatever that may be."

He took her hand in his, bowing over it and placing a tender kiss on the back of it. She held her breath again. Edward straightened up. There was little she could say to him, much like there was little he could say to her. He knew that she said it now, but Edward also understood the meaning of marriage. It was her future, and while he wanted to spend it with her, it was her decision to make. He would not coerce her into anything. The longer he stayed with her in Raven's Grove, the more he wished to plead to her to marry him. But he would not, his insufferable pride would not allow him. The same pride and fear which had him hide his identity from his family.

He went to get his wretched horse with her staring after him in defeat. He mounted, with great difficulty, to ride away. How on earth had he ever managed to come to Raven's Grove with a fresh gunshot wound? She stared after him and wished to shout out for him, to stop him.

But she didn't. Her lips pressed together as her breath left her chest. Seeing him leave her filled her with a strange sorrow.

In the gentle breeze of summer, she stared down at her bare feet, comforted by the emerald carpet upon which she stood. The pooling water and chirping birds seemed gone.

* * *

Bella clasped her hands before her nervously. Five days since the incident at the garrison had passed. Five days of uncertainty, fear, commotion. Cullen was now supposed dead by all. Hayes was closed down, she would not get to St. Nicholas and speak with Jacob, fearing that drawing him out even at the safe haven of the church, might place him in danger. Only the rides to Raven's Grove helped. Otherwise, she could do nothing but sit at home and grit her teeth. The occurrence at the garrison and the death of Cullen silenced any other gossip. Bella Swan's escort of a very drunk Edward Masen seemed to have gone by completely unnoticed. Yet, both families still wished to remedy the situation, to save Bella Swan's reputation should such information ever get out.

They sat in the Masen gardens, all in uncomfortable silence. Rosalie eyed her with extra curiosity. Both women now shared the same burden of knowing Edward's secret. Edward sat next to his sister, staring at the intricate pommel of his ivory cane. He was dressed up as always. Had she never been there to care for his wound, she would never have guessed he'd been shot.

Alice was next to her, but her countenance was subdued. Charles and Carlisle conversed in hushed voices while Esmeralda and Renée whispered in a corner.

It was awful, truly awful, Bella thought. She knew she hadn't done anything wrong, yet she felt extremely guilty. Maybe it was due to the secret she now kept. Edward kept up the act wonderfully, almost making her wonder if there were not really two of him.

Carlisle finally stepped forth, standing before the family as Charles joined him. "We have arrived at a solution to save Miss Swan's reputation."

Charles looked at his daughter sheepishly, then cast his eyes to the ground.

"Miss Swan, it is your choice. My son will do as I bid," he said, glaring at Edward. She nodded, gripping the fabric of her skirts, frowning slightly as the early summer breeze swept past her. "If we could announce that you and my son have been engaged for the past fortnight and are to be wed this summer, any chance of this scandal leaking will lessen," Carlisle murmured, looking at Bella. "But the choice remains yours, if you would have my son or not, we are merely offering a solution and he _knows_ his duty to you."

Bella's breath caught in her throat and she felt Alice tense up next to her. A solution indeed, but it would be to appease both families. There were no rumors floating around in Hayes, no malicious tongues wagging. She cast her eyes to Edward, but he remained passive, his eyes cast to the ground. Inwardly she chuckled, he was tense, wondering what she would say. He had shown all his cards the previous day and left the decision up to her.

She rose to stand. "Mr. Masen and I have done nothing wrong," she defended. "Nor anything dishonest."

"We understand that, but you must also understand how it looks for us," Carlisle sighed.

"Miss Swan," Esmeralda said, walking up to her. "We are offering what we believe to be the best solution. It is up to you if you wish to take it or not."

The crowd stared at her and Bella grew restless under their gazes, fiddling with her hands even more.

"Leave the poor girl be," the nasal voice drawled. "If she does not wish to be my bride, we cannot force her. Heaven have mercy if I should force her into anything." He looked as arrogant as she remembered him to be. Edward got up and she saw it cost him dearly when no one else did. He walked up to her slowly. "Miss Swan, I formally ask for your hand in marriage," he said with a bored countenance. He stifled a yawn. "A refusal would crush me."

"Dear Lord," Renée muttered under her breath. She hoped her daughter had some sense to not marry this man. How indeed would Bella ever be able to tolerate him?

Bella placed her hands on her hips and arched an eyebrow. "Mr. Masen," she said after a while with an air of resignation. "If I am to even consider marrying you, there will have to be some changes."

"My dear girl, tis a simple question, not a business transaction," he chuckled.

The parents, siblings, and spouses stared in silent awe as the couple bantered. Bella crossed her arms and scoffed. "You will begin by dressing like a normal and decent human being," she smirked.

Edward arched an eyebrow, but she saw, from the look in his eyes that he was playing along. She was offering him a way out of the masquerade without having to reveal everything at once. "This is all the rage at the Brit—"

"It might be all the rage there, but if I ever see another frill on you, Mr. Masen, I shall never bear you any children and nag at you constantly until your ears drop off."

"Did she just accept?" Renée whispered to her husband as her face dropped.

"Is she mad?" Emmett muttered to Rosalie under his breath. He did not notice how his wife fought hard to hide the smirk at the spectacle both parties were giving.

"Bella," Alice sighed, but she couldn't help as her lips stretched into a smile.

Edward pressed his lips together as if the very thought of sacrificing his sense of fashion was a deal breaker. "My father is adamant I marry you, Miss Swan." He cast a glance at Carlisle, who could not believe what he was hearing from Bella. "I will aim to dress as it pleases you," he groaned.

"Furthermore," Bella continued, savoring the power. She was getting back at him for all the times he had teased her as Cullen. "I would hate to think you felt pushed into this situation." She was genuine now. "I will only have you if you will have me."

Silence, utter and astonished silence.

Edward kept the mask of indifference on and Bella grew nervous. Maybe he didn't want her after all. Yet, she remembered how he had looked at her the previous day; it was enough to make her knees week. He walked up to her and took her hand, gently kissing the back of it. "You already know my answer," he told her, dropping the thin voice for an instant and letting the truth of his feelings for her be evident, making her blush slightly.

"Then it is settled," Bella told the dumbfounded spectators. "It appears I have a fiancé. Now," she fiddled, growing flustered at all eyes on her. "Do excuse me," she muttered, rushing out.

They all stared after her, still processing the situation.

"That went…much better than I expected," Carlisle mumbled. "W-what just happened?" he asked in a general direction while looking at his son.

"It seems you finally managed to marry me off, father," Edward drawled. "I think I shall retire as well, this sunlight is giving me a terrible headache," he muttered while parting ways.

Alice's eyes shone. "I cannot wait to burn those awful frocks of his!"

* * *

Bella enjoyed the refreshing air of the afternoon. Aye, she had not felt this happy in a long time. Her heart swelled whenever she thought of Edward. When the rest of the world seemed to be tumbling into chaos, she was only captivated by two green orbs. Her family had remained at the Masen townhouse for the rest of the day, celebrating. Bella had sat in a haze, avoiding the inquisitive looks of the servants, of her mother, her father, and her friends. It was strange to think that Alice was soon to become her sister-in-law.

She stared at the exquisite gardens, left alone to enjoy them. Edward had kept away from her for some time and she wondered why. Most of the family had retired to the inside and left her be as well. Bella could still not wrap her head around what had just been decided, and on her part, nonetheless.

Bella had been blind to herself, and to Edward for a long time.

She recognized the signs Alice had been speaking of—signs that had been there for some time. But she was not some fool. She would not blindly jump into a situation she didn't fully understand.

When the clatter of shoes on gravel sounded, she looked up. The Masen gardens were small, she remarked. But cozy. The afternoon air was fresh, whispering winds caressed her soft skin that grew feverish at the mere sight of him.

He dressed down. The frock was off, only a white shirt remained with the sleeves rolled up, the ends of the shirt tucked into his dark brown trousers. The boots had scuff marks here and there. The linen of his shirt looked wrinkled and his hair was rid of the gel.

"Seems you took my words of a simpler dress literally," she blurted out as she went to stand up from the bench by the stone platform. In the shadow of the house, she saw Alice peeking at them.

He walked up to her, once more himself.

"Alice has already raided my closet. There is little left."

Before he could continue, Bella cut him off. "I am sorry I gave you no warning," she started, taking a few steps back. Suddenly she grew shy.

A hand reached out to take her arm. "It's…alright," he murmured, turning to face her with some difficulty. His stitches still had to be sore. She wondered how he had even ridden to the stream the previous day to begin with.

She stood in a silent awkwardness, regarding him.

The gardens seemed to call for them and she looked past his shoulder. "Will you take a walk with me?" she asked him.

He arched an eyebrow, but soon offered her his arm and they started walking to the back of the gardens where fragrant rose bushes and fruit trees lined the wall.

Both walked in a strained silence. He knew she had come there for a reason, knew that she found it hard to express herself. But soon Bella Swan stopped and looked at him for a long time.

"I'm surprised you accepted so quickly," he said in a pleasant tone.

"I…," she started.

"I thought you would need more time… you know, to process it all."

"I've known who you were since you hid in my chambers as Cullen," she told him, mindful that no one was listening in on them. But the gardens seemed empty.

He arched an eyebrow. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Bella blushed. "I might have wanted to get back at you," she mumbled. It stirred a slight chuckle in him. "I might have…been afraid…of what it would mean."

They continued their promenade to a tree near the end of the garden. He paused, emerald orbs digging into her as they always did. "Why… did you accept?"

She had tried to understand herself as well. "When first I met you as Masen, I thought you were a complete and insufferable fool," she admitted. "When I met you as Cullen, I admit I was taken in by you, even if you did vex me. However, when you sought me out as Masen, when we had our walks; when you relaxed around me…I feel I got to see a glimpse of who you really were. And I do not think I knew at the time, but Masen pulled me in just as much as Cullen did."

Edward stood dumbfounded. He never thought the fop would have had a chance with her.

"The promenades, the way you made me laugh…" she turned to him. "That was what won me over." The confession had her almost ashamed as she looked at her slippers in the grass. His eyes shot up to her, the emerald orbs glinting mysteriously in the afternoon light. He hung onto every word she was uttering.

"I know that I caught glimpses, glimpses of the man behind this whole masquerade. I know I got to see him. During our promenades, I think he stepped out, at certain moments. When you came to me as Cullen, I could sense him too. _That_ is the man I'd like to know. The real Edward, the Edward I helped patch together in Lucy's chamber, the Edward who came riding to meet me at the stream, the Edward I believe is now standing here before me as well."

Edward didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until he let it go; its release like a gust of wind. He had always known her to be perceptive, yet never to such a level. She had seen what nobody else had been able to. Or, maybe she had managed to unmask him because she had seen him both as Masen and as Cullen. He swallowed, feeling bared before her.

"I know I kissed you back in that chapel for a reason, even if I didn't want to admit to it at first. You frightened me."

He was about to talk when she stopped him. "Frightened me with the thought that you…are continuously risking your life. That any night you leave as Cullen could be your…last." She fought hard to control her emotions. "It became even more real to me when I found you behind Lucy's, bleeding out." Her voice trembled and he took her in his embrace, holding her firmly against him.

His hand brushed against her cheek as he moved in closer. "I would never leave you, Bella. I would never let myself get hurt or killed. Not now when I finally have you in my arms," he whispered into her ear.

She nuzzled against him, closing her eyes and breathing in the familiar scent that seemed to calm her now. "This feels right," she whispered after a while, evoking the question he had asked her in the chapel. "This feels right," she sighed, looking up at him.

"_This_," he said, cupping her face in his hands, letting his true emotions reflect through his features. The mask he had so expertly crafted washed away. "This is everything I need, Bella. I never thought I could have this…have you," he admitted. "I never supposed it to be so, especially not when Collins started chaperoning you."

"I should have listened to you all, regarding Collins," she murmured. "He…he was not who I thought."

"Worry not about him anymore," Edward calmed her, placing a lingering kiss on her forehead.

* * *

It was almost nightfall, and she was in the stables, brushing April. A smile would occasionally find itself onto her face whenever she thought about her Edward. For he was now indeed hers.

Suddenly, she heard two boots near. Her heart soared, thinking Edward had paid her a visit. But that would be strange. They had agreed to ease into their roles as fiancés. He should not be here for her now.

When she turned around, she understood indeed that it could not be him. She did not think it would bring _him_ to her doorstep; the word could not have spread so fast.

Collins looked utterly broken down—as if he had not slept for a full week. There was a scruff growing on his chin, his always neat and combed-back ponytail slipping out of its knot, the golden locks tumbling into his face. His uniform was wrinkled, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

He stared at her for a moment with such a hollow look that Bella almost had a mind to call for help. The way he looked at her made her heart clench painfully in her chest. Despite it all, she had cared enough for this man to consider matrimony with him at one point.

"Out of all the suitors you might have had, why did it have to be Masen?" he asked in a broken and accusing tone.

Bella put down the brush. "It's difficult to explain, James," she began.

"No," he shook his head violently. "Not it is not. I saw you lead him, too drunk to even walk straight. I saw you help him out from Lucy's tavern the morning after Cullen's attack!"

His statement angered her, but she controlled her temper. "And you jump to conclusions, James. Do you truly think so little of me that I would lose my reputation in such a way?"

He pointed a finger at her. "Indeed, you are right. Why would you be with him, if not to ensnare him? You chose money and a title before actual feelings, Bella. I…I would have given you the world! He will not marry you; he _cannot_ marry you! Can you not understand that?" He growled and took a step back, not wishing to scare her. "No…you cannot have chosen him! You…you were at the wrong place at the wrong time, and now you are trapped with him. That's it, isn't it?" He tried to see reason in her union with Edward Masen.

A sad expression etched its way onto her features. "We are engaged, this is how things are now, James. And nothing can be done to change them. I will marry Mr. Masen and you will have to accept that."

He neared her, his icy blue eyes growing red with unshed tears. Bella felt his pain and abhorred being the cause of it.

"I can still save you, Isabella, if you will have me—"

"Is everything alright here, Miss Swan?" asked a voice to their left. Robert, the stablemaster, was walking toward them, suspicious eyes passing over Collins.

"Quite alright, no need to be alarmed, Robert," she answered back. Some tears had escaped Collins' eyes and she felt her own eyes water slightly. "James, I'm sorr—"

He stepped toward her, looking as if he wished to reach out and touch her. Robert sprung to Bella, but she put up a hand and let Collins act as he wished. The once proud major let his hand grace her chin, an inner conflict taking hold.

"No, _I'm_ sorry I wasn't enough for you," he growled causing a sharp intake of breath on her behalf before he turned around and left her standing.

Collins did not look back. He knew that if he did, he'd rush up to her and take her with him. Everything was wrong, everything had tumbled downhill after Forster and Wilson had discovered his secret and used Bella against him. And now he had lost her, after all.

The major got up on his horse and hurried back to the garrison. Forster made it clearer each day that he was in command. Wilson did not hold as big an aversion to visit the captain as he had before. He did not fear the gossip after people now only speculated about Cullen's death or spoke Isabella Swan's engagement.

He did not wish to ponder on the ghost's passing. He had seen him shot that night. But there hadn't been a body. Collins knew the masked man to be fickle, and he supposed it would take more than a mere bullet to kill him. But Forster had pushed the notion forward to calm Wilson. Collins had read some of the threats Cullen had been sending to Wilson after he had unmasked the mayor. Wilson had every reason to be frightened, which was probably the reason he'd been holding so many soirées: surrounding himself with people brought a false sense of security. But Collins knew Cullen, that man would not be stopped by a crowd, not at this stage.

What if he had only been severely wounded? What if someone had saved him and nursed him back to health? He couldn't know, of course, until it was confirmed that Cullen was either dead or alive.

Collins rode up to the garrison: the place he now abhorred. He gave a soldier his horse and walked with heavy steps to his office building, knowing Forster would be waiting for him there.

The captain was lounging comfortably in his chair. The scar was painfully present, but Forster did little to cover it up anymore.

"How did you find Miss Swan?" he asked without looking up, twirling a small knife around in his nimble hand.

Collins paused. "I never said I went there," he muttered, removing the dark green military jacket.

"Well, one of my corporals saw you riding to her house," the captain tsked. "Didn't I tell you to leave her be? That she would be ungrateful?"

"You did," Collins growled.

Forster threw the knife across the table and put his feet down on the floor, leaning forward in his chair. "Wilson wishes to know if you will partake in our plan regarding Athar," the captain asked, his eyes regarding the tired countenance of Collins. "It's not like you have that little wench to worry for anymore," he smirked. "And helping us would enrich and empower you," he blinked. "There will be more women, Collins."

Collins stared at the knife for a long time, hearing the cumbersome ticking of the clock hanging on the wall. He licked his lips. Aye, he had little left to lose and everything to gain by helping Wilson and Forster. Besides, his hands were already dirty. The more time he spent in their company, the more he lost of himself, realizing his ethics and morals were drifting away like dust in the wind.

"I shall help you," he whispered, his icy blue eyes growing colder after having said the words. He did not catch the cold smirk spreading across Forster's chapped lips.

A sudden knock sounded on the door and a corporal, under Forster's command, stepped in unannounced. "Mr. Athar has just arrived and is asking for you, major." He turned to his captain. "You as well, captain."

"Thank you, you may leave," Forster spat. He turned to Collins. "Remember what you just said, James. There is no turning back now."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the prolonged wait! Hectic week. Anyhow, here is another chapter :) I hope you liked it. **

**I want to inform you that next week, I will be going away on vacation. I need to work on my tan cause Lord knows I'm pasty a.f, which is not acceptable for a half-spaniard lol. Because of this, the fic will be on a short hiatus of around 2 weeks. I thought I'd warn you so you don't go expecting updates two to three times a week as per usual. I will try to post chapter 28 before leaving, at least :)**

**Best regards, and wishing you a lovely summer 3**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	28. Chapter 28

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 28_

Matters were not as grandiose as was expected when someone from the esteemed and reveled family of _Athar_ arrived in Hayes. The Athars, a grand and noble family for centuries, had reached the pinnacle of society some three hundred years ago. They had led the kingdom toward its golden age at the beginning of William Fell's reign during the early sixteenth century. However, the advisor at the time, advanced in his years, decided to take a back seat. The Athar lineage was never carried through him as he died without an heir. Instead, it was carried through his distant cousin who received the title and honorable name.

It was widely known that the Athars were honorable, wise, and just. And, while all families have a black sheep here and there, every passing generation saw the same strong and wise leader, always there to advise the king of the Fell dynasty. The current Royal Advisor was no different than his predecessors; mayhap a little prouder and not as outspoken. While he, the Duke of Cantabria, tried to put out the fires in the capital due to the king's rather lacking abilities as a monarch, his younger brother, Willard Athar, had taken a position in the government. His first years he had spent making a name for himself as a magistrate, only to finally receive a post as an official firstly in Internal Affairs, and then he moved on to work for the Treasury Department. It sufficed to say that the capital had sent over someone overqualified for the job, which had rendered Wilson suspicious.

The headstrong Willard found himself in a previously thought insignificant town. At forty-two years of age, he had done well for himself; ambitious yet reserved. He was, all in all, a true civil servant that would do his ancestors proud.

His gray-green eyes squinted as he was led into the courtyard. He readjusted his black frock and the cocked hat, cleared his voice and strolled forth with cane in hand. His bearing was proud, for the fact of what his family name entailed. Yet his eyes were perceptive. He had heard much of the garrison of Hayes. And more whispers told him, in fact, that it was not Major Collins who ordered the lancers, but the proud Captain Forster.

The lancer led him toward Collins' office with quick steps. The gray-haired gentleman made no fuss with small talk. Indeed, he seemed the sort of man that wasted little time.

He was let into the major's office and looked both officers down with squinting eyes as he squared his narrow jaw. The crow's feet around his eyes became prominent as he arched a bushy eyebrow. Athar looked older than his years, a common trait within his family. The gray hairs had started coming in during his early thirties, not that it bothered him much.

Captain Forster gave a bow as Major Collins offered a courteous salute. "My lord Athar," the commandant of the garrison offered. "It is indeed a pleasure and privilege to be graced by such an honorable man as yourself here," he started in a pleasant tone.

Athar waved haphazardly with his hand as his voice boomed. "Gentlemen, gentlemen," he started. "Lord Athar is my brother. _Sir_ Athar will do fine," he stated. "But I am not here for pleasantries," he continued. "I merely came to announce my arrival and then turn in for the night."

Collins arched an eyebrow. Indeed, Sir Athar was much more direct than his reputation would have him be. "Very good, sir. We appreciate the gesture—"

"I will commence my inspection first thing tomorrow morning, of course," Athar continued, thus interrupting Collins. "I have a lot on my plate. Gentlemen," he leaned forward. "I am here by request of my superior as he thought me suitable for this mission. But Safeira calls me, paperwork, and all that business. The quicker I can get this underway, the better," Athar continued.

Forster now smiled as his dark eyes glittered dangerously. "It gladdens me to hear that, sir. We thought that maybe your brother was involved in sending you here, maybe even by direct request of the king himself?"

Athar redirected his attention on the imposing captain. Aye, much had been whispered about the rabid dog of Hayes. He was just as one would expect a power-hungry officer to be. The scar, in the form of a cross, stood out in the middle of his forehead and Athar made it no secret that it caught his attention.

"My brother cares little about what I do," Athar said as his face twisted into an irritated grimace. It caused Forster's eyes to glitter and widen.

"A certain outlaw has caused some problems for us, which is what we suppose to be the reason for this impromptu inspection. But worry not, my good sir, for he is no more."

Athar kept his gaze steadfast on the scar, which slowly unnerved Forster, although the latter made great efforts to not show his discomfort. "Yes, I've heard of your supposed _Ghost of Raven's Grove_," he continued. "It's disgraceful that he was allowed to continue for as long as he did," Athar growled.

A nerve popped in Forster's forehead, but he kept his tongue.

Collins seemed to be the one to relieve the tension, his eyes flickering nervously between both men. "Aye, but he is gone now, and his followers will soon disperse."

"It gladdens me to hear that you too see what he was," Forster added in a strained voice. "A nuisance."

"We do not need rebels at a time like this," Athar nodded.

Forster neared and they continued speaking about the current affairs up north, about the silencing of some rebel villagers and a rogue general now fighting for the people, up in arms against the king. It was the same rogue general the Duke of Cantabria, Willard's brother, was suspected of supporting secretly. Willard Athar, however, did not seem to show the same inclination as he openly condemned General Adams.

"Sir Athar," the captain cut short. "I see you are a direct man of few words. I also hear that you can be most _susceptible_ when the time is opportune."

Athar arched an eyebrow. "Speak your mind captain."

Forster smirked as he started pacing about the office. He's had a chance to read the man before him and was about to gamble. "You do not need riches, _that_ you have plenty of. But it is true that you and your family have fallen out of, shall I say _favor_ with certain high-ranking gentlemen in Safeira, is it not?"

Athar scratched his chin as he leaned against the wall. "Keep going." His eyes drilled into Forster as Collins settled back and watched the captain work his magic. "I have contacts who would gladly place, if not your brother, at least _you_ back in favor with the right people in the capital. After all, we do not choose who we are related to." He stopped short before the proud official.

"A most interesting point you make, and an even better proposal," Athar started. Collins was in awe but showed little of it. He knew Forster was good, but never this good. "However," Athar continued. "I suppose you will require something in return?" he arched a questioning eyebrow.

"I like a direct man, Sir Athar, especially one as direct and to the point as you. I shall not speak in riddles anymore. Make sure the inspection of Hayes returns to the capital with the highest standards and I will make sure you are distanced from your brother the duke, er…in _your_ favor, _of course_," the captain blinked. "With the contacts we can offer you, you will surely advance quicker than you already have. I could very well imagine a seat at the Grand Council's table within a year or so."

A wicked smirk spread across Athar's thin lips. "I shall have to get to my writing as soon as I'm installed in my chambers at the inn."

"Oh, but surely you will not spend the next few days there?" Collins leaned forward with a frown. "It's not suitable for a man of your standard. I am certain the mayor wouldn't have it either—"

"Alas, the hour draws late, and I would not bother the man. Nay my good officers, I am not about to spend much time here, for as you said, Hayes has little to report on," he blinked. "I will not require extensive lodgings. The tavern, that Laughing Goose, will suit my purpose just fine."

"Then let us at least offer you an escort," Forster said with extended arms. "I will have my best lancers go with you and help with your belongings."

"I am in your debt, Captain Forster," Athar bowed. He turned to the major. "Major Collins," he placed the hat once more upon his head. It was a sign that he was ready to leave. "A pleasure, gentlemen."

"Nay sir, the pleasure is all ours," Forster blinked. He walked the proud man out of the room and made sure his most trusted corporal followed him and had another two lancers help with his trunk.

Collins leaned back in the chair behind his desk as Forster stepped in. "I do not understand why you want me in on this when you handled the whole affair so beautifully," he snickered.

"Handled?" Forster spat. "It was practically handed to me on a silver plate. Know the circumstances surrounding a man, Collins, and you hold his entire life in your hands."

Collins leaned forward. "I did not know anyone coming from the Athar family would be so susceptible to a bribe."

"When impressions and reputation outdo moral and ethics, anyone can be bought, you simply need to know the price," Forster blinked.

"And who are these revered men in Safeira? What power do you hold over them that they would change their mind about Sir Athar here?"

Forster chuckled. "Still naïve, Collins. Aye but I like that about you. You add a bit of realism and genuine feel to this whole affair." Forster scratched his chin. "I will handle it. You need not know of the specifics."

Collins had a sinking feeling in his stomach that Athar was breathing on borrowed time.

* * *

He walked down the cobblestone as some children ran after each other in some tense chasing game, broken up by their heartwarming laughter. The sunbeams pressed harshly down on Hayes, the colorful houses a cheerful façade of what went on within the interior of the small society.

He trailed along the path from The Laughing Goose, having had a late breakfast, delighting in the bourgeoise atmosphere within the tavern; the fiddling of the guitar, the chuckling conversation and the stout woman they called Little Lucy, apparent owner of the establishment. Athar had always wanted to visit Cadherra for he knew the importance the region held to his family. Here the sense of what it was to be Angloan had born. Here was the crib of Angloan pride, what defined their country. He suspected the townsfolk of Hayes would never realize it themselves, how they played a big part in the Angloan history and its identity.

His footsteps led him through tight streets until happening upon a smaller square. There was a blooming tree at the other side of it with an old man sitting under it, playing a game of chess with what appeared to be himself.

But it was next to him, looming grotesquely with an awe-inspiring presence, that the statue of General Edward Cullen, Lion of the North, Field Marshal of Angloa, was positioned. Athar's own family history tied in with this man, many centuries ago. Something within his heart jumped as he thought of the tale that had been passed down about Cullen from parent to child. He felt a connection to this man who was long since dead. Without realizing it, Athar's feet dragged him further toward the statue, almost mesmerized by it. He came to stand directly before it, regarding its intense stare, its glooming appearance, how it overshadowed the man playing chess.

"He be leavin' 'em all speechless these days," the man muttered as he moved the black knight across the field and then promptly turned the chessboard around. "With all his deeds n' whatnots."

"It's hard to believe that his ghost should have returned. But, then again, there were already whispers three hundred years ago that his shadow was spotted weeks after his death in the dungeons of Aldea in Safeira. Maybe he has chosen to come home after all this time."

Simmons chuckled. "Hayes and Cadherra became his home ever since he came up 'ere with the countess, that Swan woman. He be defendin' us now, sir."

Athar settled down opposite Simmons. "Have you seen him?"

Simmons stared up at Athar with an eerie frown from the board. "As I be seein' ya now, sir."

"And…what was he like?"

In his hand, Simmons clutched the black knight, regarding it for a while. "I ain't a man of many words, sir. I could never begin to explain what I saw. Tis a sight one's gotta see fer themselves." He put down the knight harshly on the board and then promptly turned it around.

Athar mumbled something.

"Has Mr. Simmons bested yet another opponent in chess?" a soft and cheerful feminine voice came from his right.

Simmons felt the weight of the white queen in his hand and a smirk spread on his lips.

Athar turned around. "No, miss, I was simply asking this man here about Hayes." He went to stand up as he turned to her. "I am the official from Safeira, sent here to do the formal inspection."

He stopped short in his tracks as he caught sight of her. She was a delightful apparition, dressed in faint blue, the gown picked up by the soft breeze that enveloped them. Some stray chestnut curls danced under her straw bonnet.

"Then you are very welcome here, sir," she smiled. "If you are to do the inspection, I shan't detain you much longer. I merely wished to give my greetings." She looked at the statue and then at Athar again. Simmons tapped the white queen against the board as she curtsied to them both, having forgotten to exchange names.

Athar watched as she walked away, meeting up another young woman with hair as black as the wings of a raven and a young man with honey-colored hair and a genteel countenance.

"Who was that?" he wondered.

Simmons looked up and saw that she had left. "Oh, yes, she be a sweetheart that one," he smiled. "Prone to gettin' into mischief at times. I suppose you tickled her interest, which is why she came over to greet you."

"But who is she?"

Simmons regarded the white queen in his hand, placing it down on the board, effectively removing a black pawn. "That sir, be Miss Isabella Swan," he smiled.

Athar turned heftily to stare at her. "Swan?" A chill passed through him as the shrouded eyes of the statue seemed to drill holes into him.

"Aye, but no ties to _that_ family," Simmons assured Athar.

The middle-aged man glanced back at the statue again. "Who'd name their child Isabella Swan? The combination invokes such a sense of tragedy and distress whenever it is uttered. Such a sad affair."

"Sometimes I think fate be playin' with all of us: that Cullen should appear back in Hayes, that someone called Isabella Swan should find herself here. Tis all very strange, sir."

"Hmm, yes," Athar pondered. "Well, sir—"

"Simmons."

"Simmons, thank you for the information," Athar said with a bow. There were many new questions popping up in his head, many new answers which he sought.

He found himself that same night back in his small room in the tavern. At first glance, Hayes did not seem to be in distress. The music playing downstairs, the carefree air in town; all suggested that this was an idle community with little to worry about. But he had spoken to many, and he could read the fear in their eyes. It seemed Forster held an iron grip on the people.

That same evening, two notes found themselves in his hand. The first was a formal invitation by the mayor to come to his extravagant summer gathering, to be held within the week. It seemed Athar had gotten a last-minute invitation. Another, more hastily written note, detailed the road he was to take to the church of St. Nicholas and there await further instruction. Athar bid his time until the town seemed to lull itself to sleep. When all grew quiet, he skillfully slipped away from his room and out to the back, where a saddled horse stood ready for him. It seemed his contacts kept friends with the tavern owner. He mounted the horse and made sure not to be seen as he left for the church, quickly spurring the animal into a fast canter the moment he was past the walls.

Athar tied the horse to the pole outside and entered, removing the hood from his black cape as he stepped foot inside the house of God. Some wax candles remained lit, but, otherwise, little light seeped through.

His footsteps echoed as he walked down toward the altar. "I came alone, as you bade," he said hesitantly. "Will you tell me now who you are and why you had friars Nathan and Blackwood send for me?"

Silence.

Maybe it was a prank. He had to confess; when his brother had first gotten word from a no-name lawyer in Safeira about a possible crime of corruption in Hayes, he had not felt the need to look further into it. But when he had explicitly been requested to come in person—by his older brother— his interest had been piqued. When the letter mentioned that Lucas Ridge requested the duke's presence as most urgently—only to be reported dead shortly after it—Willard had been brought into the fold. John Athar was needed in the capital, but he trusted in his younger brother and sent him in his stead, stating to be wary of Captain Forster and Mayor Wilson. Willard had cast it all aside and rushed to Hayes as quickly as he could.

A hooded man now stepped toward him.

Athar swallowed hard. "Who goes there?"

The man neared further, slipping between the shadows. He lowered the hood, showing a tanned face and hair as dark as night itself. "Thank you for coming, sir," Jacob said. He pulled something out of his robe and handed it to the older man. "I know you have questions, many of which will be answered the moment you read this letter."

Athar stared down at the blanched paper, at the thickness of the bundle and sighed. He accepted it into the fold of his gloved hands and sat down next to a source of light, starting to read without a word. The more he read, the more his lips thinned until he stared up at Jacob.

"Mr. Ridge was—"

"Murdered," Jacob nodded.

"And you are?" Willard asked.

"Jacob Black. My father, impaired by the wounds sustained from his last imprisonment in Forster's prison, could not make it."

Willard looked at the letter again. "You have the accounts and ledgers?"

Jacob walked to one of the benches and produced them, handing them to Willard.

"This is…very alarming." He placed a hand across his eyes, trailing it up as if pushing hair or sweat away from his eyes. However, it was the invisible sense of defeat and fatigue he wished to be rid of. How could this have escaped the Safeiran administration, he wondered.

"They bribed you, yes?" Jacob asked.

Athar nodded. "As Lucas Ridge wrote that they would." He hesitated. In Lucas' letter, he had pleaded with Duke Athar to be wary of Wilson and Forster, to not show all his cards and play along in their game.

Lucas had instructed Duke Athar to contact the friars of St. Nicholas in case he was to come in aid of Hayes, as they were removed from town, their church never visited by either Wilson or Forster and—most importantly of all—they could be _trusted_.

"After my brother reached out to him, Friar Blackwood was adamant I trust in you and your father, Mr. Black. I did not have another choice but to do as Mr. Ridge wrote. Thus, I feigned distaste for my brother, simulated a lust for power and finally accepted the bribe. They do not yet suspect anything. However, Captain Forster is most perceptive, he will know eventually. But that such an elevated officer as Collins should play part in this too?" Athar shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Disgusting."

"Will this be enough?" Jacob asked.

Athar looked through the ledgers. "We could compare these with our accounts in Safeira, unless Wilson has contacts there as well. I must speak with my brother," he muttered. "But I do not know how much time we have. They wish for this to be done and over as quickly as possible."

"But will it be enough to take them down? Sir, they've been bleeding us for months. People have lost their lives. I hold little faith in the government you serve or the law anymore," he spat. "But Blackwood said we needed you when you reached out to him. And Cullen said we should go this route and not rise up against those men with brute violence—"

"Is he alive?" Athar interrupted.

Jacob's shoulders sank. "I…don't know. I haven't seen him since we rescued some men from being executed. They say he was wounded and I…_did_ see blood. But no body was found." Jacob paused with a fleeting look in his eyes. "He wanted to bring Wilson and Forster down without an uprising. But if this doesn't work, Sir Athar, we will rise up and bring the bastards to their knees by force."

Athar saw the fire burn in Jacob's eyes. It was clear he had gone through much, lost much. It seemed the possible death of his leader, Cullen, was what affected him the most.

"This should be enough. I am supposed to turn in my official report tomorrow. But if it finds no fault with Hayes or the way it is run, it may hinder our goals."

Jacob started pacing. "Have you been invited to the summer gathering at Wilson's estate?" he asked.

"I have."

"If you would submit your report there—a report that truly shows what goes on here, together with the evidence, we could come and put Wilson in his spot for all to see. The people of Hayes are proud, if we can reveal to them what Wilson has been doing out in the open, none of us risk our lives in the process. And Cullen's men…well, I guess they're my men now…will offer some sort of protection—"

Athar shook his head. "Listen to me now, Mr. Black. We could do this, yes. In my presence, presenting all this evidence would give it validity. But if you simply storm in there with your men in tow, Forster will no doubt lash out at you." Athar looked pensive. "Unless," he started. "I could declare you all a civilian force, which would give you jurisdiction to stand up against Forster and the Royal Guard, should they attack."

He paused, stroking his chin.

"This evidence, however, is not strong enough to declare that Wilson and Forster were involved in Lucas Ridge and Maria Haste's murder. If we could prove that, it would ensure that both never again saw the light of day."

"This is all we have," Jacob said with sunken shoulders.

"Then this is what we work with. I shall have to meet up with you again and plan this; we cannot falter."

"Come to this church and have the friars ring the bell three times and I shall come."

Athar extended a hand which Jacob accepted. "I look forward to working with you, Black. Although," the taller said. "I confess it would have been a thrill to have been able to meet this Ghost of Raven's Grove, as they call him."

Jacob grew somber as he pressed his lips together. "Let us hope he truly is a ghost and not a mortal. Let us hope he comes to our camp before Wilson's gathering."

Athar nodded. "Would it be inopportune of me to…say the word?" he wondered.

It caused a smile within Jacob. "No, sir. I think you have earned saying it."

Their handshake ended. "Well then, Audeamus, Mr. Black." The word echoed strongly and stirred something within them, as if the past was present, a watchful eye regarding them. Mayhap it was the very soul of those who had fought for Cadherra three hundred years earlier now watching as the province once more fell in difficult times.

"Audeamus," Jacob echoed.

* * *

She wrung her hand nervously as she shifted her weight in the seat of the confessional. Bella hadn't been to St. Nicholas since her last meeting with Cullen. The very thought of them trapped in the small confinement of the wooden box, the way he had pressed her up against the wall, how he had taken her in his arms and kissed her, was all that ran through her mind. It stirred her thoughts and made her unable to think straight.

Jacob was solemn, quiet. She caught some glimpses of him through the latticed opening. The church pressed down on them with a strange eeriness, a mysterious air that encircled them both. She had wanted to know he was well after having realized the state Edward found himself in. She had wished to know what he knew and what he would do.

"It gladdens me to see you well, Jacob," she began, her eyes searching his through the opening. The charcoal orbs met hers and a roughened expression etched their way through the opening.

"I do not know if I'd call it well, Bella," he whispered, his words carried off in a thin echo fleeting through the air to her ears.

"The men you saved—"

"They are safe."

Jacob seemed affected by something—like he bore too much on his shoulders.

"Cullen," she started.

"I…I think he is gone." The thickness in his voice, the way he shied away from the conversation: Jacob was grief-stricken.

Bella swallowed hard and licked her lips. She remembered the wounded man on Lucy's bed. She remembered the blood, the near brush of death. When she knew who he was, when he turned into her fiancé—a man that she now cared for and knew the dangers surrounding him—she had wanted him to put aside the mask.

But.

The look in Jacob's eyes made her stop. Cullen had brought many men together to fight Forster and Wilson. His absence was a hard blow to their morale. A part of her felt guilty that she hadn't yet told Jacob that Edward was alive. But a part of her knew it wasn't her place to tell.

"I am sorry, Jacob," she mumbled. While she wished to protect Edward, to know that he was safe, she knew it would never be fair to people like Jacob, whatever her or Edward's wishes were.

Jacob cleared his voice. "Wilson's ball is in two days. Tell me you are not going."

"Everyone is going, there is no excuse to get away from it. It would make him suspicious of me and my family."

"You cannot go, Bella. Please, do not go!"

"Are you planning to confront him there?"

"If it is not done publicly, Wilson will surely twist it all to his benefit."

"Will Willard Athar be able to take him down?"

Jacob paused. "This is the only option we have. If he does nothing and leaves, Wilson holds the power. Cullen advocated for us using as little force as necessary when dealing with Wilson, he said he was like a snake that wormed his way out of situations like these. He thought Wilson was well connected in the capital. We cannot take him down by force; it has to be done by the book, like Ridge wanted, to end him once and for all." A look of resignation claimed him. She heard the heaviness in his voice as he shifted in his seat.

"Bella, do not go to that ball. I have a feeling it will all end rather badly, despite what Athar says."

"I must go, Jacob. As I know that you must as well."

* * *

The carriage was pulled under the wall as they left Hayes and went for the promenade. Ever since it had been declared that Edward Masen and Bella Swan were to be wed, he had slowly started changing his dress. First, the horrible gelled hair had disappeared. No longer were the curls pushed flat against his temples. Instead, they were pushed back, away from his face, showing off handsome features and not distracting from his vibrant eyes or smiling mouth. Soon followed the frills, the lace handkerchief had been thrown into the roaring kitchen flames by herself with a satisfied smirk on her lips. One day, Bella had happened upon Alice in that same Masen kitchen and saw another ensemble of frocks being thrown into the flames by Jasper. Without a word, Bella had first joined them and then argued that maybe the clothes could be donated. Alice, ever the crafty individual that she was, had simply raised an eyebrow and asked her soon to be sister-in-law _who on earth_ would ever wish to wear such ghastly apparel. "Not even a hermit!" Alice had exclaimed. Bella had burst out into laughter at the irony.

Thus, her fiancé had transformed from a pompous peacock to a rather agreeable young man. The air he kept about him was still to be changed, however. But she noted, when they were alone, how he looked more comfortable without all the excessive clothing, powder and rouge.

It was a gorgeous summer's day as Joseph led the horses and vis-à-vis carriage across the road cutting through the emerald meadow. She felt the hot rays penetrate the straw bonnet which she wore, warming the top of her head. The perfumed breeze smelt of the heather and forest. She closed her eyes and inhaled, unaware of how Edward stared at her, unknowingly leaning in.

"Do you know of Willard Athar?" she asked, her eyes still closed, the corners of her mouth still upward.

"Aye, I hear he is a good man, though I've never met him in person. But I think I will, soon."

Her eyes flew open and he was met with a burst of melting chocolate orbs that pressed into him as she frowned. "As Masen or Cullen?"

He leaned back in the carriage. She would never know how good it felt that she was in on the secret. Edward let his bare face be kissed by the sun as he settled back further. He grew casual and relaxed the moment they were away from prying eyes.

"His brother, the Duke of Cantabria, was—is—advocating for reformations within the government that would place our country in the eighteenth century and lead us into the nineteenth. Reformations that are long overdue. Willard Athar was and, hopefully, still is, in line with his brother's thinking. They wanted a change when I first heard of him in London. I hope he still does." He looked pensive for a while.

"Apparently, from what Joseph has gathered through Friar Nathan, Lucas Ridge wrote to Lord Athar right before his death, hoping to catch his attention. The Duke of Cantabria is a busy man, but it seems the deaths and the uprising has finally made him send someone he trusts here. I think Ridge told him of the absence of Lord Newton. He must have written of Forster and Wilson's power-hungry grab for the entire Hayes area. It appears Safeira and Wessport have been keeping an eye on us for a while. Wilson is probably backed by noblemen who lead the king astray—powerful noblemen who Lord Athar is trying to take down. But someone needs to bring Wilson in first for him to succeed. That is why it needs to be done through the law and not through an open revolt."

"But, Edward…does this mean that you will meet him as…Cullen?" He had moved from her initial question, maybe because he didn't wish to answer it himself.

Edward sighed, staring at the moving countryside as Joseph took them to their beloved promenade. "Everyone believes Cullen to be dead," he said. "I still haven't recovered enough to appear before Jacob. The day I rode out to meet you in Raven's Grove I thought I would never make it home," he admitted. He wouldn't say how he had felt after changing back into Edward Masen.

"Do you…_want_ Cullen to remain dead?" She saw the sadness around the edges, the way he wished to avoid the discussion entirely.

"Although I admit I could not keep this up much longer, I realize there is still much to be done."

"Well, maybe consider telling at least your family the truth," she suggested. When he pressed his lips together and remained silent, she sighed. She leaned forward and took his hand in hers. "You know," she started, "When I got to know you as Masen, I was appalled at times by the fop. But even _I_ perceived some glints of you behind that façade. I am certain your family must have seen it as well. And I am more than certain that they would understand if you explained it to them. They know what Forster is and how perceptive he is, they would understand, Edward, as I have come to do. It might take some time, but having those you love by your side would make this easier, don't you think?"

"I put on the mask because it was easier than trying to convince them that we should fight back openly. Look where it got Billy Black, look where Ridge ended up. My father is hotheaded, as you know. He was already involved in this, Ridge had already entrusted information to him. If he found out about me—if he didn't lock me up in the townhouse first—he would want to further involve himself and I cannot let that happen."

"You were shot and almost killed, I thought I would lose you. You are still wounded, and I believe that, if there was more time, you should rest more. Yet, you and I both know that as we speak, things are being set in motion on both sides. Jacob aims to take down Wilson and Forster with or without you, but he cannot do it alone." Her voice shook softly, and she bit down on her lower lip as she looked into his eyes. He saw the reluctance in her eyes, how it went against every bone in her body to say what she had just said.

She could see his jaw clench and his nostrils flare. He kept silent for a little while, digesting the meaning of her words until finally speaking up. "I know." He drummed his fingers against his leg.

They settled for a while, the carriage taking them past the tree-line, reveling in the melody of the forest, of the strange aura it provoked. Both felt more at ease between the trees than they did in town for there, both were truly free to behave as they pleased.

His sudden stiff and serious countenance was suddenly broken as he cracked a smile, trying to lighten the situation. Edward removed his felt hat and let his fingers run through his hair as he took a deep breath, staring into the horizon. "_Of course_ it would be Bella Swan who would reason thusly with me," he chided with an arched eyebrow.

She in turn blushed. "I was just—"

"I will not abandon Jacob, my men or my _brothers-in-arms_." He settled back and arched an eyebrow. "And I will not let myself get shot again. Really now, whoever got me in the side was lucky," he chuckled, stifling a groan as it agitated his stitched abdomen. It had still not healed through entirely as only a little more than a week had passed since the shot. The outer skin had started healing nicely, but the deeper wound was still sore and bothersome, yet it did not impede him to move around as it had before.

The carriage started descending a small hill as they neared the promenade. "You know, I met up with Jacob yesterday at St. Nicholas. I…had to make sure he was well too," she mumbled. Her eyes widened. "He asked if I was going to attend Wilson's ball," she said.

Edward arched an eyebrow; not surprised Jacob was asking Bella about the ball. "I had been sending threats to Wilson, enough to frighten him to such a degree that he constantly kept surrounding himself with people. He thought I wouldn't strike if he was accompanied by other civilians. Therefore, I thought it would be ironic that I should appear before him, as Cullen, during the biggest feast he'd ever held." The look in his eyes seemed empty; as if his head had trailed off into the clouds only to be lost there.

"Well, Jacob has contacted Willard Athar and is planning on making an impromptu appearance, as it were," she muttered.

Edward still didn't react to her, but looked pensive, as if thinking over something.

"Do you think they could do it?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Take down Wilson at his own gathering?"

"If Jacob presents the evidence and Athar is there as a witness, it could be plausible, but very risky. Wilson is at his strongest when he is backed by Forster. If the entire force of the Royal Guard is there, it could quickly turn sour. Even with all the men from camp, Forster's lancers could overpower them in a matter of minutes. They are too many."

Bella licked her lips, feeling the day darken. "What if…Wilson worms his way out of the arrest?" she asked, paling by the minute. "Such a thing could not happen, could it? Athar would make sure he is arrested and placed in prison for life."

"The evidence against him is vast. Having a witness would, of course, be the best evidence. But both Mr. Ridge and Miss Haste are dead." But Edward looked to be having something up his sleeve "However, there is someone else. Though I hardly think they'd step forward," he said.

"The person Jessica Stanley seemed so worried for?" she asked, eagerly leaning forward. Suddenly the carriage hit a rough spot, sending her flying into Edward's chest. Bella gasped as she landed against his torso. She quickly righted herself.

Edward paled as his hand went to his side.

"Did I tear your stitches?" she blurted out, suddenly fussing over him. She moved in closer and bade Joseph stop the horses once more, looking to see how he had faired. Edward's eyebrows arched to his hairline when she quickly started unbuttoning his coat.

"Eh, Bella…" he said feebly as she disregarded him and pulled the buttons of the waistcoat open only to reveal his white shirt.

She gave out an irritated snort. "I _did_ tear your stitches!" There was a small line of blood from the broken skin as his shirt stuck to it. Her eyebrows knitted together, and she looked up, ashamed that her clumsiness had hurt him.

But what she found instead was a flustered Edward. Only then did she realize why. She had practically started undressing him with a very unbefitting familiarity for an unmarried woman and not given it a second thought.

Suddenly she jumped away from him, hugging her hands close to herself.

He pressed his lips together, looking at her for some time until she saw that he could no longer hold back the devilish laughs. "Really, Bella, if you keep behaving in this way, our wedding night will be _very_ premature," he laughed, ignoring the slight throbbing pain in his wound.

A blush crept up her throat, spreading on her cheeks all the way to her ears as Joseph joined in on the laugh as well, unable to keep a straight composure anymore.

Bella brought up her fan and hid her red face behind it as Edward held his side in pain, unable to stop laughing.

* * *

**A/N: I promised and I now deliver dear readers: chapter 28.**

** I will now enjoy my vacation, thank you for the well-wishes 3 And I will enjoy that one truly universal known fact: calories don't count on vacay! ;)))**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	29. Chapter 29

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 29_

The heavy ticking of the grandfather clock positioned up against the wall made his shoulders tense by the minute. Collins stared ahead, his eyes flickering about the place as a million thoughts rushed through his head. Forster and Wilson were going over preparations for the ball in case Jacob Black and his father made an appearance. Even though Cullen was presumed dead—indeed, he had not been seen since the night of the garrison rescue—Jacob Black and all of his men were still at large.

He stood leaning over the dark mahogany table in the stuffy room. Dozens of wax candles were lit to illuminate the space. The shutters to the windows were sealed, not allowing for any prying eyes to peek through, in case they caught sight of the mayor plotting with the officers. The space grew confined and, thus, the air within became overbearingly stuffy. Irritating clouds of tobacco smoke mixed with the overuse of cologne. Embers of a dying fire emitted a stifling heat in the early summer warmth.

Collins had been in Wilson's office many times before, yet now, as he analyzed the place while trying to settle his jumbled thoughts, he came to realize what the interior of the room truly symbolized. It was an overflow of decadence and luxury, something about it screamed baroque to him. The paintings that dotted the rooms were certainly of that era, too heavy for Collins' more natural tastes. He had never liked the strange depictions of chubby cherubs or robust women. The furnishings were heavy too, all in dark warm tones, with damask or brocade patterns. The wood bent and twisted its way forward like a serpent in complex designs. The dark rug covering the floor followed the similar elaborate pattern, with maroons, burgundy and dark browns mixing. Wilson wished to show off his rather _manly_ tastes. But Collins saw something more. He knew little of Wilson or his background. Was the man from an old family? No, for then he would have no doubt boasted of it. Maybe, by so richly furnishing his estate and townhouse, he gave off the sensation that he was not only rich, but his family had been so for a long while. By using furnishings from at least two centuries ago yet having them modernized, Wilson had designed a fake connection to the past. He wrote his own history, painted his own story by choosing how to present himself. Collins realized how smart the chubby mayor truly was.

Wilson seemed calm despite Athar's presence in Hayes. Indeed, the mayor and the captain believed to have him in their pockets. Collins knew what would happen to that man the moment he had helped them. Athar was living on borrowed time.

Collins wasn't naïve about his own fate either. But he was too full of doubt and ire to think rationally.

His jaw tensed as he painfully gritted his teeth together, watching both men as the candlelight cast eerie shadows across their faces. Their visages seemed grotesque; as if their impeccable daily masks had fallen aside and gave the disgruntled major a good view of the monsters he knew them to be. The sound in Wilson's office was thick; as if pushing through a fog. There was little he could make out besides his erratic heartbeat and his breaths; shallow and irregular.

Collins knew he had made a mistake in joining both men before him. But Forster had put it so well; he was nothing more than a thief—someone who had stolen a dead man's name for fame and fortune. He belonged with them now for there was nowhere else to turn. He had reached the point of no return all because he had cared for a woman. He was not angry with Bella, not at all. He was angry with his own foolish actions. Had he not been so easy to blackmail it could all have ended differently. Had he had more power in his grasp, more connections, he might have turned the situation around on Wilson even. He might have kept Bella and…Collins' fists balled up in his hidden fury.

The very thought of her sent a jolt of pain through him and he looked away from the table, from the ill-will of both men. Collins could sense the darkness within him, the jealousy, the lust for power. He had always known it was there. Indeed, was there not such a darkness in all men? Some might have more of it than others. And now, he found, as he was taken into the fold of Wilson, his own darkness grew and threatened to escape while he was still undecided whether he was going to release it or not. Collins was confused with himself, his feelings—his state of mind.

He pulled at his collar.

"Got that, Collins?" a distant voice asked, the tone irritated, hissing.

He looked up, caught unawares. "What?"

Wilson and Forster peered their eyes on him. Awful eyes, monstrous eyes. Orbs that did not belong to sane human beings. He had never seen so much malice in a pair of eyes before.

"The grand ball I am hosting at my estate was meant to draw Cullen out and take him down once and for all. But with his death, we can instead focus on his allies. Jacob and Billy Black will no doubt have rallied those who followed Cullen. I am certain they will strike, and we will be ready," Wilson said, motioning to some papers. "We anticipated Cullen's every move, I know Jacob will follow in his leader's footsteps."

"How will you know if we have enough men?" Collins asked, trying to shake the feeling of unease and nausea away. He had to prove himself long enough to figure out what he would do the moment Athar left for Safeira once more; when they would kill him. He had not yet solved how he was to survive once they shifted their attentions on him once more.

Forster sent him a cocky smirk. The scar on his forehead still stood out like an ugly red cross. The lines in his face grew more severe in the dark shadows cast from the candles. "We have more men than just the Royal Guard at our disposal. Many more," he assured. "But they will not be necessary if Black strikes."

Wilson drummed his fingers against the table, his foot tapping lightly on the dark Persian rug. He reached out for a small polished metal table with a glass server and some elegant cups and poured an amber liquid that Collins suspected was either brandy or whiskey.

"You will take charge of the Royal Guard, Collins. Forster will have a few other guards on standby at the perimeters of the estate, just in case. I wish to snuff out these annoying rebels once and for all." He downed the contents of the cup in one swig, pouring himself another one while turning to Collins. The gray eyes peered into him coldly as his chins bobbed. He had discarded the gray wig and ran his hand over his shaved head. "In two days, this will all be behind us and we can return to the life of leisure we used to know, without worrying about ghosts or bandits," he blinked.

However, Collins could see the slight shaking in Wilson's hand. Despite the confident appearance, he was still afraid something would go wrong.

The major nodded slowly, pressing his lips together.

"You may go and get some rest. Mr. Wilson and I have other more personal things to go over," Forster spat, turning his back to his supposed superior officer.

Collins knew that there was no reason to dispute with the captain. Forster enjoyed showing he had authority over him, and he was powerless to protest. Collins grabbed his hat and stepped out without a word. The moment the doors had closed behind the major, Forster grabbed a cup for himself and poured some of the amber liquid.

"Are all the preparations in order?" Wilson asked with a slight shake to his voice.

Forster stared into the cup and arched his eyebrow. "In two days, he will be gone, and you will have sent your message." He pressed the cup to his lips and unlike Wilson, Forster savored every drop of the alcohol.

"I cannot rest until I hear of his death, Forster. Things are getting out of hand and we must show that we are in control."

"We _are_ in control. Cullen is dead and—"

Wilson turned around heftily, anger gracing his plump features. "Aye, but where is the body?"

"One of the lancers shot him, I saw the bullet hit him myself, as did Collins!" Forster argued. "He bled like any other man. Maybe his horse took him to the forest, and he bled to death there. I do not care. All I know is that we haven't seen him or had his antics irritate us since. His men will be weakened in spirit and we will take down Jacob and Billy Black." Forster soured at the last name. "Mark my word, Wilson."

* * *

Collins straightened the collar of his military jacket as he snuck out of Wilson's townhouse. However, whatever may happen at Wilson's ball, he could never truly return to how things had been.

Besides, rumors that Wilson had embezzled tax money and committed tax fraud floated around in Hayes. The suspicion would always remain, whatever Wilson did. And if Collins was suspected of working by his side, he too would be tied in with such rumors, despite the fact that he had never been involved in such an affair. He supposed it was defamation simply by association.

He repositioned the black hat over his blond hair and cleared his voice. Collins stared straight ahead of himself, disregarding the not so subtle looks he would receive as he started moving toward the garrison. Where he had previously inspired smiles and waves, his presence now made people turn their backs on him. As he walked on the side of the road, ladies and gents of all stages of society would whisper, some would frown, others would look away. They did not fear him as they feared Forster. But he saw the disappointment they held for him.

He passed the main square, past Lucy's inn and saw the servers and patrons rush around within the establishments. Horses were tied to the long pole just outside. Some men sat lazily on chairs on the wooden terrace leading up to the tavern, right under the protruding second floor, keeping away from the hot rays of the sun. The dirt kicked up by passing pedestrians and horses irritated his lungs. It was a dry day. Collins aimed for the garrison when he suddenly slowed his pace.

Entering the square, in an elegant black vis-à-vis carriage, were none other than Edward Masen and Isabella Swan. The peacock was different. In the short course of their engagement, it seemed Bella had already managed to bring the dandy down to earth. He did not dress like a ridiculous butterfly anymore. His nose wasn't in the air any longer due to the lack of tall cravats and collars. His hair was pushed back, not lying flat in greasy curls, making him look like a buffoon. Indeed, Mr. Masen looked an accomplished gentleman, and Collins wasn't the only one to realize it.

Bella held a satin parasol in a soft blue, complimenting her dress in the same tone. Her face peered from under the straw bonnet and he saw Masen say something, causing a warm laugh to escape her lips.

Collins clenched his hand and stopped. He watched the couple, watched the warmth in Bella's eyes, her relaxed aura. She didn't seem to mind the fop. She seemed comfortable in his presence. Had it always been this way? Collins wondered.

She had never looked at him with those warm eyes. He had never made her laugh in that way.

Of course, it could be a façade, Collins supposed. The carriage stopped in front of Lucy's inn and Masen stepped down—awkwardly—the major noted. He turned and helped his fiancée step down as well. Collins wasn't the only one who watched them. Some pedestrians noted the couple as well.

Stiffly, Masen took her hand in the fold of his arm as they moved to enter the inn just as Sgt. Thompson spotted them and followed eagerly.

As Collins took a sharp breath and turned to his garrison, Bella and Edward sat down with Thompson at a table inside, ordering a bottle of wine and some venison stew. Lucy kept ordering her staff around as the tavern filled to the brim. Ted helped her at the bar and Joe kept an eye on the back, helping the cook with the fire.

It was a magical day in Hayes, Bella thought. As she took in the normalcy of the tavern, seated next to the man that was soon to be her husband, and Sgt. Thompson, a good friend, she imagined it couldn't get any better.

Thompson had downed his third cup of wine when Edward ordered another bottle. "I believe you will have to keep the bottles coming, my good sir, for here the wine flows like water," he remarked dryly to the waiter as he arched an eyebrow Thompson's way. The comment caused a faint grin in Bella while Thompson was happily unaware.

Lucy shook her head at the strange trio while she was restocking the liquor behind the bar. Joe passed through the crowded room, squeezing through the chairs and standing patrons until he reached Lucy.

"Ya've got someone here fer ya, Lucy," he shouted through the loud conversation.

Lucy cast a glance Ted's way. "Keep an eye on him, Joe fer God knows he'll raid the whiskey cabinet the moment I step away," she sighed, putting down a bottle with an amber liquid in it and drying her hands on her dirty apron.

The big woman walked away from the bar, past Bella and her company. "Maybe some grape juice would be in order?" she stopped to whisper in Bella's ear, eyeing Thompson. "I think he's had enough fer today."

Bella leaned toward Lucy. "He won't notice the difference," she agreed. "I'll ask Joe for a bottle and switch them."

"Maybe ya could let yer fiancé have at the wine, 'twould surely make him a better conversationalist," she chuckled.

"Oh, Lucy, Edward is anything but droll when he is drunk," she whispered with a horrid look that quickly turned into a mischievous grin.

Lucy straightened up and moved further back to the tavern. "…I _must_ know what you two were speaking of, Miss Swan," she could hear the dry voice demand behind her.

"Oh, nothing, I assure you, Mr. Masen." The statement caused a smirk in Lucy. Yes, Bella Swan would know how to handle Edward Masen rather well she figured.

"I must get goin'," Lucy excused sending them all a nod as she hastened to the back of her tavern. She went past the bustling kitchens and to the back, shrouded in shadows as the light of day would not reach there.

A premonition took hold of her. Something hung unspoken in the air as she discerned two figures moving toward her from the shadows. She saw two pairs of gleaming black orbs contrast against the backdrop of the small room past the kitchens. One leaned heavily on a crutch and another stood taller. Some lit candles in an old iron holder let some muted light filter through, where particles floated lazily in the air. The scent of musk, mud, and metal was the most prevalent.

"I would think it a stupidity that ya stepped out in broad daylight," she sighed as she placed her hands on her broad hips.

Jacob and his father stepped forward more so that they were positioned in the light of the dancing flames. Jacob had a serious look etched into his features; a look of revenge, a look of fatigue after so many months away from his home. His father appeared more reserved. Perhaps he carried the same fatigue as his son. He, however, did nothing to show it.

"Forster won't be looking for us when the sun's out," Jacob said.

"Then whatcha want?" Lucy demanded. "I've a full tavern in the front. Some of us still try to lead a life here. We can't all be rebels!"

"We did not _choose _this," Jacob spat as he curled his fists and let out a snort of anger. His father placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Mrs. Berg," he began, letting the raven eyes drill into hers. "It's time we set an end to all of this."

She swallowed hard, knowing what he was referring to.

"It's time we openly stood up against Forster. We know not what became of Cullen... if he is still out there. But we _do_ know that we must take action. You saw the ledgers condemning Wilson. We aim to bring his affairs into the light and let justice—Ridge's justice—handle him."

"And whatcha want me for?"

"We need men. Able men who will help push the Royal Guard back as we enter Wilson's ball. The stakes are high, I understand this. But we have chosen this as our chance to strike, to take those men down. You heard me speak here in the Goose a few weeks ago, you seemed to agree. I am certain you wish for Ridge and Haste to have their suicides declared void."

The plump woman was captivated by the enigmatic orbs of a man who held more wisdom than she. "Twould be just like ya, Black, to speak out again." She scratched her head under the white cap, some graying strawberry blonde locks escaping its confinement. Lucy stood divided with the knowledge she held. She knew Cullen was alive. She even suspected who he was. But if he had not sought out Black and his men, then there had to be a reason. She trusted enough in him to realize he knew what he was doing. Revealing that he still lived might thwart some plan of his. Thus, she kept her mouth shut.

"I'll get yer men fer ya," she stated. "Joe'll see to that, he will. But ya will have to persuade them yerselves!" Critical eyes glanced at both men. "But come, lads, come into the kitchen with me n' have something to eat. You both look like you could use it."

Both couldn't help as the corner of their lips twitched while following her: the mother hen of Hayes indeed!

* * *

Carlisle had never known such uncertainty before. Hayes had not been what he had expected. Ever since arriving he had understood what the town was going through. When Isabella Swan had asked for his help with Jacob and Billy Black, he hadn't hesitated for a second. When Lucas Ridge had spoken with him and Judge Johnson regarding the Black trial, he had seemed so calm and collected. Carlisle still remembered the haunted look on Ridge's features as he had come to his house in the dead of night, a few days before his supposed suicide. And Lucas had made him swear to keep silent, swear he would never tell a soul of what he was to give him. For Lucas Ridge feared for his life.

Carlisle knew it was all culminating and that the rumors surrounding Mayor Wilson were true. He also knew that the more the mayor and captain were pushed into a corner, the stronger their retaliation would be. Someone—he suspected it to be Cullen—had gathered Ridge's information about both men. And Carlisle didn't doubt it one second that Cullen, whether he was still alive or not, had been preparing for the grand battle.

A sudden move from the corner of his office sent him flying from his chair. He had grown jumpy ever since Cullen had broken into his home. "Who goes there?" he demanded, reaching for the pistol he had hidden in one of his drawers.

"A friend, Lord Masen!" a voice called out as a figure stepped into the light. It was past most people's bedtime and Carlisle only had one light in his study. He discerned a tall man with glossy black hair tied at the nape of his neck walking up toward him.

Jacob Black.

The proud lord calmed when he realized it was not an enemy. "I could have shot you," he reprimanded as he sunk down in his chair. He moved for the glass of brandy he had been sipping on during the past hour.

Jacob neared with little decorum. "I am sorry to intrude, Lord Masen, but I am not someone you want to be seen with. Not at times like these," he said.

Another sip brought the burning liquid down his throat. "Why are you here?" Golden eyes sprang up to meet black ones. Carlisle knew who Jacob Black had been before his father's imprisonment. However, spending months living as an outsider—a fugitive from the Royal Guard, had the lord on the defensive, just in case.

Jacob neared. "Tomorrow evening Mayor Wilson is throwing the biggest event Hayes has seen in decades; most of the town and neighboring villages are invited to join in on the festivities. _Everyone _will be attending."

"You are going to go up against Forster and Wilson," Carlisle whispered, shifting in his seat.

"I know you held onto the letter Ridge wrote. You know _everything_ Wilson has done," Jacob said, leaning in. "Cullen said you had already opened the letter when he got it—"

"Stole it."

"_Borrowed _it."

The brandy swirled in his glass as both men took a step back from the conversation. Mentioning Cullen's name brought a sort of melancholy into the room. Neither mentioned his absence, but both thought about it; that Cullen probably was dead.

"Wilson has to be shown for what he is, and Forster…" Jacob trailed off as his voice started shaking, the ire bubbling beneath the surface. "Forster will _pay_."

Carlisle's lips were pressed together as his brow furrowed. "Charging in with your men and killing the Royal Guard in front of witnesses will not help your cause. It will only show that you are as bloodthirsty as them."

"We are using what Ridge gave us," Jacob said. "Everything. We are not alone."

"Who—"

"I am not at liberty to disclose that."

The baron sighed as he stood up and walked around his desk. "I am to surmise that you wish for me, maybe also my family, to help you enter Wilson's estate that—may I remind you—will be more guarded than the garrison? And you then wish us to watch as you throw a letter and some other evidence in his face and expect him to admit to his crimes?" He walked up to stand face to face with Jacob.

"We will not be throwing anything into his face, neither my father nor I have the ability to condemn Wilson. But we have someone with us who can and will. It's your choice if you wish to help us in this endeavor."

"If this does not work in our favor, my family and I may end up in Forster's clutches. My son is to marry, for heaven's sake!" He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I know about Bella's engagement to Mr. Masen. Trust me when I say that I would never let anything happen to her, or those she cares about. She is very dear to me. I will guard her and her family as my own; that means the entire Masen household as well."

Carlisle looked at Jacob Black for a moment. "Even my son?"

Jacob sighed. "Obviously your son," he deadpanned. "She's marrying him for a reason, isn't she?" he continued. "For surely she wasn't forced into anything?"

No, indeed she had not been forced. Bella Swan had actively chosen to marry Edward, maybe with a small push and encouragement on their behalf. But he knew her type, she was determined and hotheaded. Had she not accepted by her own accord, there would never have been a chance of her marrying Edward.

"She…_surprised_ us all by accepting his proposal," Carlisle confessed.

Jacob couldn't help the snort escaping him, nor hide the silly smirk such a sentence caused. "My lord, will you help us enter Wilson's estate? You have been there before, surely you know of a way to let us inside?"

The baron looked at him for a long time. "You are asking me to trust fully in you to do such a thing…" He grew pensive until a resolute sigh finally claimed him. They were working for the same goal. Jacob was right, tomorrow night was the best time to attack and they might not get another similar chance again. He was gambling a lot on Jacob Black's success, but it was better than just watching idly and do nothing. "Very well, I shall. However, I need you to show me the same faith. I need to know who will help you take down Forster and Wilson. That is my price to smuggle you into the estate."

Jacob had promised Athar that he wouldn't say anything. He knew Carlisle Masen was a man of honor and true to his word. He had held onto Ridge's letter. Ridge had trusted in him. But what if Ridge's faith in Masen was what had caused his demise? What if Masen was in league with Wilson? No, that surely couldn't be. Masen had called for the judge from Safeira and tried to get him and his father out of prison together with Ridge. And if Bella was marrying into this family it was for something. He trusted in her judgment of character, even now.

"Willard Athar," Jacob said.

And as Carlisle agreed to help them enter, another shadow slipped soundlessly past outside the door after having heard their interaction.

* * *

The small room had been silent for hours, the man within it sitting in contemplation while going over recent events. He had always had a perceptive mind—always known when something was amiss. Tomorrow night was the night of the grand ball, and he knew that chances of him taking down Wilson, despite the evidence he was to present, would be small to none. Lucas Ridge and Maria Haste may have presented good witnesses had they survived. Lord Newton, to anyone's better knowledge, was dead, and he suspected Wilson was behind it. For, if the lord of Cadherra was gone, the mayor of Hayes would have more freedom to do as he chose in the county. Wilson was good at what he did. He knew what people to push and what people to take into his fold.

But Wilson had been wrong about him, about Willard Athar. He was true to his family, to his name, and to his country. And he was true to the king, however inept and misguided he may be. When the king had taken the throne, he had ruled well at first, albeit some small lack of experience was expected. But that was _why_ he had his advisors. But, indeed, a few years ago, around the time of the French terror, he had started making foolish decisions. He had started giving more power to certain lords at court and almost turned his back on the Athar family. The king followed inept advice. While he had, as a younger man, wished to bring the country into the future, he now ruled the country in such medieval ways that it had sparked rebellions in the north. Willard understood the leaders of the rebellion to a degree. He too would be tired to be dismissed and see the people of his home county starved for resources so certain lords at court could have their perks.

But at times like these, some village rebellion could spark a similar event like the one that had happened in France and General Adams, the leader of the rebellion in the north, did not understand that. And, to think that Hayes had been the inspiration for such an uprising... To think a _ghost_ had started it all.

Willard scratched his head and put his face in his hands. The rest of Hayes slept soundly, many sensing the calm before the storm, many realizing that soon something was bound to happen. Willard had spotted Jacob in the tavern that same night, watching how he was gathering men to help them storm Wilson's feast. The official was not a fighting man, he had never been. But he had heard the horrors of Captain Forster and seen the fear in the townspeople's eyes.

Aye, fear had been there. But, strangely, behind that fear rested something else.

Hope.

And he knew very well who had invoked such hope. While many said Cullen was killed by the lancers, others still believed in the legend, believed that the ghost could never be killed for he represented the iron will and pride of Cadherra. He was the backbone of the people, the man who had given them the courage to stand up for themselves. They all nodded knowingly and whispered his name as their eyes sparkled. He had seen it in the tavern, seen the faint smiles, the clinking of cups as they drank to his name; as they mumbled _Audeamus_.

Edward Cullen was and always would be the will of the people. Edward Cullen _was_ the people, one of them. Willard, after all his year in public service, could not fail such men and women, not now, not when so much was at stake; as his brother had told him right before his departure.

He settled further in his chair and sighed, sensing the intruder in his room. He wondered how long he had been there.

"I hope you will not stand in that corner all night, good sir," he said out loud as he moved to light a candle. Willard knew it not to be an assassin. If Forster or Wilson wanted him dead, he would not be breathing right now.

The stranger stepped forward. "No light if you please, Sir Athar," its low tone echoed eerily—as if it was the voice of the past speaking to him.

His hand hovered over the wax candles and Willard swallowed hard; hesitant yet understanding. "As you wish," he whispered back. Once he had heard the voice speak, his skin turned into gooseflesh because he understood _who_ was in that room with him. Willard turned around and saw a dark mass in the furthest corner of the room.

Cullen.

He knew it to be him. It _had_ to be him.

"The people say you died…again."

He heard him shift slightly in the darkness as the crescent moonbeams pushed against the shutters, faintly filtering through like silver beams.

"Maybe I did," the voice trailed off and evoked a sudden sadness in Athar that he furrowed his brow.

"As… an official for the kingdom of Angloa, I cannot overlook your vigilante acts against the authority of this town and county." He turned fully to face him, knowing there was little Cullen would be able to discern from his features. "Officially, at least. Whether you are Cullen—the _real_ Cullen that died in Adelton Hall three hundred years ago—or not matters little to me. What matters is what you have done, who you have gone up against and who you aim to take down. Or _aimed;_ for even your men think you gone."

"I came here, Sir Athar, because your family supported Cullen during the war of succession three centuries ago. I came here to understand _who_ you are, what kind of a man you are—"

"You already know. I stand by my family's tradition. We will always be loyal to Angloa, to the idea King William Fell had of this kingdom. And we aim to push his descendants to a just kingdom. We want a bright future, but not the rebellion you are instigating."

"How are the people, of Hayes or any other town, to live freely when corrupt men like Wilson and crazed officials like Forster manage to rule so unchecked? How could _I_ simply stand by and watch men—who stood up for what they believed without wearing a mask, like Billy Black—do nothing? Call me what you will; a vigilante, an outlaw, a bandit. Cast my name in the dirt as you please. I care little what you think of me, sir. But do not abandon these people that I've tried to help this past year. Men like Wilson need to be brought to justice. The man and woman who tried to do so are now resting in two coffins," he said with a tremor to his growling voice.

Athar took a step forward. "And what happens after?" he asked. "After Wilson is disposed of, _if_ he can be."

"I am merely a man in a mask, sir," the deep voice said as he too neared, now standing in the faint beams of the silver light.

Athar paled as he saw the silhouette of the man before him; a man appearing larger than life, just as stories from old had described him to be. Was this truly just a man of flesh and blood? That could not be. This _had_ to be the real Edward Cullen.

"I need to understand how someone like Wilson could ever manage to live as he has without interference from the capital."

Athar stuttered something intangible to himself, his nostrils flaring, his otherwise stoic and collected countenance faltering. Few things managed to alarm him, to budge him. Yet this man had done just that. But could he trust him? Trust was not easily earned, Athar thought.

"Wilson has known which men to bribe during the years. He knew so in Wessport as well as in Safeira. He takes a man's darkest desires, or his darkest secret, and uses it against him."

"Then he must have some powerful men in his grip," Cullen mumbled.

Something hung unspoken in the room. "I cannot say the extent, sir," Athar answered. "Tomorrow…your men will help me take down Wilson and Forster, if the proof Ridge gathered was enough."

"Tomorrow you will succeed, Athar," Cullen reassured.

"How can you be so certain?"

"I will make sure it is so."

"But how can you know if you have not even told your men of your presence there?"

Cullen shifted to the window, producing a black cape with a deep hood, placing it about his shoulders. "You will see," he said, turning around, his eyes glittering dangerously in the night. "Tomorrow."

He opened the windows and jumped out into the darkness of the night, leaving Athar with a deep frown on his forehead and a sigh escaping his lungs.

* * *

**A/N: Hey! I am (finally) back from a drawn-out vacation. I initially wrote I would be gone between 2-3 weeks. I waited with posting due to life...work, all that good stuff. Working an 8 to 5 job and having a social life is more draining than I remembered so I didn't have time to go over my chapters, edit them etc. And then it kind of became a pain, something I "had to do", and that's not how it's supposed to be! Writing is supposed to be fun! So I decided to take a step back, collect my thoughts and return with a fresh mindset. Now I am back, excited to (soon!) reach the finish line :D I thank you all very much for your patience, I am sorry I made you wait, I hope you know that wasn't my intention, I usually follow my schedule religiously. But I feel I'd rather give myself some time than let the fic suffer and then have to re-edit a bunch of chapters (and not be happy with the end result).**

**Hoping you liked the chapter, the next one will be up next week! (This time there will be no drawn-out hiatus, I promise!)**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	30. Chapter 30

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 30_

Past the swaying meadows, bathed in silver starlight, rushed an ensemble of elegant carriages. They passed through the rolling green hills of Cadherra. The air within them was stiff, tense. The stars twinkled faintly outside as the Masens, Swans, McCartys, and Hales all traveled to Wilson's estate together.

Bella sat squished next to her husband-to-be, the interior of the elegant vehicle subdued, muted, serious. Her heart hammered in such a frantic way that she was certain it would break free from her chest.

This was the night.

The night Wilson got his due.

After his scheming in the shadows, after the murder of Maria and Lucas, justice would now get him in the form of Jacob, Billy Black, and Willard Athar.

Flickering chocolate eyes stared out the opened window, their owner inhaling the scent of the eve. She watched the early flowers bloom as the perfumed night beckoned. Her hands balled into fists and she took a deep breath, hoping to calm herself.

The soft white cotton of her close-bodied gown felt restrictive. She cast an eye at the small embroidered flowers in muted reds and blues that sparsely dotted her skirt and outlined her bodice. A sudden warmth befell her clutched hand as another, larger hand, enveloped hers. Startled she darted up, looking frantically to her side, only to be met by Edward's calming forest greens. He gently squeezed her hand, a small and affectionate gesture that felt more intimate than the most passionate of kisses. He sent her a glance, wordless yet so full of meaning. Carlisle watched his son and soon to be daughter-in-law. He saw the look Edward sent Bella's way. He saw the way she looked back, the way her eyes sparkled and opened to him.

He saw love.

And Carlisle understood that between Bella Swan and Edward Masen had been an affection taking root long before they had urged them to marry. There was something—a silent understanding—neither had bothered to disclose to their families.

Hidden by the fold of her skirts, Bella and Edward entwined their fingers and the action calmed them both. She said a silent prayer, hoping that nothing would happen to him on this night, that he would remain unharmed come what may.

Warm lights glowed in the distance as they approached Wilson's estate. People had traveled all the way from Coldwick; the neighboring harbor city to the east. All the fine folk of Hayes was there as well as some rich merchants from Zafra. It was to be the feast of the season, as Wilson had put it.

The picturesque estate stood out against the rolling green hills, bathed in the nightlight, mixing with the gold that shone from its interior. The families were set to arrive late upon Carlisle's request. He traveled with his wife Esmeralda, Isabella Swan, and Edward Masen. His other children and Bella's parents shared two other carriages. Carlisle wished to spend as little time at Wilson's as possible, knowing it would be easier to slip away the moment they arrived rather than making up an excuse during some brief conversation.

The carriage stopped abruptly before the front gates, the iron twisting like the vines of ivy which hugged the outer walls. The wisteria bloomed everywhere and added to the perfume of the night, almost obscuring the entrance with purples and whites raining down in a cascade as they walked through the elegant front gate.

Bella was escorted by Edward as their engagement was official and their wedding was set for the coming month. While she wore an elegant gown in white, Edward dressed in more muted colors. His hair was pushed back, yet he still had the high cravat for such an extravagant occasion. The powder and rouge were gone. His frock was a dark emerald green, matching his eyes very well. His waistcoat was beige, matching his breeches. There were some rings on his fingers and golden buckles on his shoes. He had still not fully foregone his foppish persona. But together they looked the ultimate perfect match. The moment they were announced at the top of the stairs, they caught the attention of most of the guests.

Bella held her breath as she clung to Edward's arm. He leaned slightly to her, keeping the same arrogant look plastered on his face.

"Thus, the show begins," he growled in that familiar voice he always used as Cullen. It caused a flush in her, for that tone always stirred something in the lower part of her abdomen.

They walked down the full length of the stairs, receiving curious glances and whispers. Someone walked through the vast mass of people occupying the very large outer patio. When Bella saw Wilson she tensed, her hand clutching onto him harder than she should have. She reminded herself that he was still sore in his side after the shot he had received.

The plump and chubby man stepped forward, his eyes creasing at the edges, his wig perfectly powdered on his head and the buttons of his cream-colored silken frock looking about ready to burst off. "Ah, Mr. Masen!" he stated as he caught sight of Edward. Another man soon followed him; Bella recognized him as Willard Athar. Wilson peered past Edward's shoulder as he caught sight of Alice, Jasper, Rosalie, Emmett, Renée, and Charles all walking down the same stairs. "Where, pray, are your dear parents?" he asked.

Edward settled down, leaning on his right leg and arrogantly arching an eyebrow. "My good mayor, it would seem my father had a certain ah _need_ for the _powder room_," he leaned forward to say. "Not that I can blame him, we were already dastardly late, and he urged the drivers to rush." His voice still had some nasality to it, but it wasn't as forced as before. "I cannot fathom why he should stress so." Aye, but the arrogance was still there.

Wilson arched an eyebrow, taking in the sight of Edward and then of Bella. "I believe congratulations are in order?" he said with a small hint of hesitance. When Edward kept from answering, Wilson stepped aside and urged Willard to join them. "I do not know if you've had the pleasure of meeting Sir Athar?"

"Why indeed I have not, Mr. Wilson," Edward turned to Athar and gave a small bow as Bella curtsied, soon joined by the rest of the extended family. "Tis good to make your acquaintance, sir. I have briefly met your older brother once or twice in Safeira."

Athar stepped forward with a frown. It seemed even in a remote town such as Hayes, the dandies still flourished. "Cadherra…_agrees_ with you, Mr. Masen?" he wondered, eyes flickering past the rest of the extended family until resting on Isabella Swan; his rather charming fiancée. The match, Athar frowned, seemed unfavorable for the young woman.

"It isn't my beloved London, or Safeira," Edward leaned in with a sigh. "But some parts of this county are…tolerable, I suppose."

"You do Cadherra an injustice," Wilson stepped in to add. "Aye, it may not be the elegant saloons of Safeira or the bustling metropolis of London, but it is quaint and welcoming."

"Really now, Mr. Wilson, 'twould rather seem we find ourselves stranded in the untamed wildernesses between great cities. Hayes has grown to become an untamed frontier where lawless men and ruffians can come and go as they please," Edward chuckled with a dandyish air. Bella squeezed his arm, feeling he had gone too far.

"The rebels and bandits have been dealt with, Mr. Masen. Those who are not dead have left running with their tails between their legs," a dark voice came from the left. Bella froze instantly on her fiancé's arm, recognizing those smooth tones.

Collins neared them with an assuredness in his step. He had gotten his appearance in order since the last time she had seen him. His blond hair was neatly gathered at the nape of his neck, his face clean-shaven. His military uniform looked impeccable and the medals on his breast shone to perfection, as well as the polished boots ending just below the knee.

Yet, his eyes, that she had found so kind and alluring before, were now two icy depths that caused a shiver in her. The friendliness was gone, replaced by something cold and calculating, a wall of indifference and seething anger working beneath the surface. She sensed Edward grow tense next to her, how his muscles worked under her clutching hand.

"Are you certain of that, Collins?" His voice lost its arrogance and, while faint, gained a rougher edge as it dropped a few tones. Had she not known to listen; she would never have noticed it. The tension between both men grew further as the energy in the room darkened. Around them, laughter, music, and alcohol flowed as freely as the conversations that accompanied them. But between Edward and James raged a silent war that few were aware of—maybe none but Bella herself. She squared her jaw and held his arm in a stronger grip.

Collins stepped toward Edward. "Aye, Masen. I am certain, for the day Cullen attacked the garrison, I _saw_ the bullet hit him. He is nothing but a man of flesh and blood. Like you and me." A snarl had worked its way onto the otherwise handsome features. Edward had further dropped his act as his emerald eyes sent daggers Collins' way.

Bella's heart was working twice as quickly as she frantically glanced between both men. Was Collins acting this way because of their engagement, because she had abandoned him, or was he acting this way because he…_knew_?

"Edward, brother dear, I am certain you will have more stimulating conversation with the major this evening, but did you not promise me we would have the third dance? I hear new music playing and you told me you had been practicing," Rosalie exclaimed in an irritated tone behind the couple.

Edward regressed to his foppish persona within the second of his sister's words. He leaned back and relaxed his shoulders as he settled into the strange hunched form that she was so used to seeing him in, making sure his nose still pointed upward. "Oh my, how silly of me to forget," he drawled. "To promise myself away in such a careless manner. Gentlemen, I found this a most stimulating conversation, albeit a little redundant." He arched an eyebrow as he lazily let his eyes drift from Collins to Athar.

"I hope I shall see you more and speak with you more this evening Sir Athar. I long to hear from Safeira and the latest from London." He cast a glance Wilson's way. "You truly have outdone yourself this time, Mr. Wilson," he nodded in a long drawl. "You have my deepest approval." Edward sent a stiff nod Collins' way. "Isabella dear, I see some chairs over there. Let us go so that I may sit, the eve has just started yet I am already fatigued. If I shall dance with my sister, I will need to restore my energy." He turned to her. "While you are at it, could you get me a glass of port?" he asked as they started walking away from the ensemble.

Alice and Jasper quickly walked past the three men soon followed by a smiling Rosalie and a confused Emmett. Athar scratched his head, his brow frowning as he stared after Masen.

Wilson chuckled. "Always a funny one, that Masen."

Collins was still tense as he saw Bella on the arm of Masen. He flinched at the way that she gripped onto him. Was she truly in such a state that she could not even look at him? How melancholy did she have to be to be _clinging_ to Masen for support?

Edward, disregarding his previous statement of feigned fatigue, led Bella to the dancefloor without saying a word. She graciously followed him, noting the tense muscles beneath the fabric of his coat. They lined up for the slow dance and started moving to the music; a slow _Allemande_. He kept her fixated with his intense emerald eyes, drawing her in as only he could.

He wanted to dance with her, show all in that room that she had chosen _him_, show what Collins had lost. He knew it was part pride, part jealousy that made him parade her before all to see. But he saw the true woman that she was, grew prideful that she accepted him, that he could make her blush, make her give him a shy smile as they kept dancing. Each time their hands touched; a jolt shocked through their limbs. Despite the current predicaments, both enjoyed that sole moment of intimacy in such an open setting.

When the Allemande was over, they hastened to the side, parted from scrutinizing eyes or curious looks. The violins played a romantic tune as they stepped out into the secluded back-gardens, parted from the main house. There they stood, amongst the swaying wisterias, with starlight softly cascading over them.

"I want you to remain close to your parents and mine the rest of the eve," he asked her as gently as he could, kissing the back of her hand.

Her brow furrowed as she leaned in. "Edward," her soft voice said. "If you allow anyone to harm you, I shall make sure you end up in the grave myself," she warned. But there was no playfulness in her chocolate eyes, only true worry.

What had been building during the early eve finally gave way as Edward let go of all propriety.

He pulled her in without a word and kissed her then and there. Bella placed her hands on his chest and melted beneath his lips. This felt right, this _was_ right. It had always been him; it would always be him. The young couple let their feelings and passions slowly unravel in the deep kiss. He pulled her in further as his hand came around her waist to hug her close to him.

In a brief moment, all was forgotten. There was only their skin making contact, only the sounds of their agitated breaths as she thought she would come undone by the way he held her, by the way he kissed her.

However, they had grown careless, unaware that they were not alone. Alice and Jasper, who had gone out to the more excluded gardens for some privacy and air, were astonished at the scene before them.

They saw Edward, holding a melting Bella Swan in his embrace; their faces together, their eyes closed, framed by flowing purple, pink, and white wisteria bathed in silver light from the full moon and bright stars. When the kiss started turning more intimate, they decided it might be an opportune time to turn around. Alice, blushing madly at such a display of affection, had always believed Bella when she denied having spent the night with Edward. Alice had believed Edward as well. But there was something secret between the couple that they had never unveiled to anyone.

And, yet, while such a thing might anger some, it only made Alice's heart grow warm.

Bella had been keeping secrets from her about Edward. The blush subsided as her lips tugged into a faint smile. She turned to see that her husband was grinning as well.

"I… did not think he had it in him," Alice stuttered. "Sly bastard," she muttered, unable to stop the smile from growing. Oh, what a happy moment! Now she was assured that Bella truly hadn't felt forced into anything. From the looks of it, Bella truly cared a great deal for Edward!

"I suspect he shall astonish us more in the future," Jasper blinked. He too grew relieved, glad for the young couple.

Meanwhile, still bathing in the starlight, Edward pressed his forehead against Bella's, watching her lips intently as they had grown puffy after their prolonged kiss. He lovingly brushed the chestnut lock resting across her shoulder away as his emerald greens came up to meet her eyes.

"You are the most beautiful creature, Bella," he whispered in her ear with a silky-smooth voice that caused shivers through her.

She blushed and shied from such compliments. "Come now, Edward," she mumbled as her eyes cast down to her feet.

"Tis true, and you should hear such words every hour of the day." He lightly kissed the corner of her mouth. "When you wake up," he trailed down her jaw, slowly, teasingly. "When you escape to Raven's Grove." His mouth kept kissing its way down her neck. "When you soak the sun by the stream." Bella shut her eyes, exposing her neck to him. "When you go to bed."

"Keep saying such words, Masen, and I will never let you go," she murmured into him with a faint sigh. It caused a tug on his lips, a sad smile etching its way into his features. Aye, he would like nothing more than to remain there by her side.

"What?" he teased. "Are you requesting a serenade or a poem now from me?" He spread his hands and with a loud voice started chanting to her: "_Here she stands, in the light of the moon: more lovely, more radiant than a morning in June._"

The words caused Bella to let out a laugh despite herself, despite the situation as she playfully placed a hand against his chest at his silly yet enchanting words.

"With teeth like pearls, and lips of ruby," he continued when she did not stop him. "With eyes alluring and I think, truly…"

The playfulness was gone as his voice grew more tender, softer as he closed in again, running his thumb over her lips, watching them intently.

"You are the one I want by my side."

Bella nestled her head in the nook of his neck and closed her eyes as he settled into a whisper.

"To have and to hold, to take as my bride."

Edward Masen had never lied to her. He truly was a poet, for never had she heard such words before. "It seems you told the truth that evening at the promenade." She opened her eyes with a sigh.

"I never lied unless I truly had to." He still seemed bothered by his past actions.

She placed her arms around his neck. "I understand why you did it. I always will, Edward. I have no harbored ill-will against the secret you kept from me. It was a necessity."

He took a deep breath and stared at her more. He did not wish to go. He wished to remain there, in that perfect moment they had both found, a serenity with one another.

When he shifted, she knew it was time for them to part ways. Something—an omen—gripped the depths of her soul, tendrils puncturing her heart as she fought not to show the fear she truly felt for him.

"Remember what I told you and remain out of harm's way."

"I know." She understood the severity of the situation. Intense eyes regarded her for a while longer before disappearing into the fold of the night.

* * *

Carlisle Masen stood speaking with Charles Swan and his wife. Esmeralda was off to the side in an interesting conversation with Jessica Stanley and her mother. There was no gossip this time, but a façade for they all felt the tension in the air, they all had heard the rumors. In fact, most at the ball had heard the gossip concerning Wilson. They kept wary, not wishing to give away their knowledge if it proved to be truthful.

Willard Athar was in a stiff conversation with Major Collins and Captain Forster. Both officers turned many faces sour. Yet, the splendor of the eve caught up with most. The music, the alcohol, and the soft breeze of summer served to lighten the mood. Wilson seemed his usual jolly self, surrounded by most of his friends. Charles, after much consideration, had decided against nearing who he had considered a friend on this eve. He needed to know if the rumors surrounding Wilson were truthful or merely slanderous gossip.

Suddenly, the clinking of glass extended itself as Wilson took center stage. The music died down and the dancefloor was emptied as he walked to the center with a half-filled glass of port.

"Friends, ladies, and gentlemen!" he started in a jovial tone. Dark rings of sweat already appeared under the armpits of his green coat which was much in the same fashion as the military coats. Was he making a statement? Some people did wonder. His wig was white for the evening, a few tight curls framing his chubby face, the color of his skin already a tone redder due to the stifling heat and his consumption of alcohol. He had unbuttoned some of the golden buttons of his coat, easing the pressure on the poor fabric. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to this summer ball!"

Applause quickly followed such a statement. At that exact time, Bella Swan discreetly entered the room and went to stand next to her parents. Alice was not too far away. She stretched her neck, trying to see if Edward was with her, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"I wish to clear some things before we continue this lovely evening. First and foremost, I wish to speak of these horrendous rumors that have been flying around about me." He arched an eyebrow when some stifled gasps were uttered. "Yes, my good friends, I have not been living under a rock and been privy to the same slanderous gossip. Now," he continued, his free hand moving casually with his speech. Wilson settled into character, comfortable with being the center of attention. "I do not know where such accusations stem from, but I give you my word that such gossip is entirely false. But, of course, I know you would not trust the very man who stood accused before you. Thus, I have complied with the wishes of the capital as they have sent a very honorable man to do the inspection of this town. Sir Athar, will you not step forth?" Wilson asked as he turned to the taller man.

Athar leaned elegantly—if such a thing was possible—against one of the tall beams carrying up the gallery that extended itself along the inner wall. He had pushed the graying hair away from his face and the wrinkles around his stiff features grew deeper as he regarded Wilson as if some sort of nuisance had befallen him. The gray-green eyes quickly fleeted up to the opposite end, to the other gallery where the wide staircase started. He unpeeled himself from the pillar and slowly made his way to the center of the floor. Athar stood next to Wilson and it was like night and day personified. Both were public servants yet so different. Athar was taller, much taller, elegant and almost snobbish in his countenance. And there was an air of not just arrogance, but poise in his bearing. He did not appear as foppish as Edward Masen. But his arched eyebrow screamed in protest as he placed himself next to Wilson.

"Sir Athar, these good people will have the honor of being the first to hear your report before you send it tomorrow to Safeira," Wilson smiled.

Athar looked at Wilson. His eyes quickly darted about the room. When he caught sight of something, he seemed to relax his tense shoulders. He turned to Wilson once more and a faint look of disgust managed to break through his carefully crafted mask.

"Indeed, I shall be glad to inform them, Mr. Wilson." He turned to the crowd and at the same time, Wilson realized something was wrong. Carlisle Masen grew tense next to his wife as he eyed the officers, wondering if they had noticed what was about to happen.

Wilson kept sending Forster glances, but either the fool ignored him, or he _wished_ to see what was about to unfold.

"I was sent here by request of the government of Angloa and even on the request of the crown to reinspect this town. Allegations had been made, allegations that are nothing compared to what I have found." He turned to Wilson. "Tax fraud and supposed murders, Mr. Wilson. It's _very_ serious."

Wilson's façade slipped away, and his true self slowly but surely started slipping through the cracks before he quickly took control of his feelings. Bella caught a glimpse of the rage and hatred in his eyes, the poison that resided in them. And she was not the only one. She felt her mouth open as she saw the angelic face of the mayor turn into a devilish one for a split second.

"Really now?" Wilson said, quickly recomposing himself. "And who, pray tell, has committed these things?"

Athar settled to the side. "Well, my good man, you have."

A buzzing murmur fleeted through the crowd.

"How _dare_ you!" Wilson exclaimed. He truly looked shocked and hurt for he had not expected things to play out in such a way. Did he not have it on good authority that Athar was in his pockets? "I would never!"

Captain Forster started nearing Athar, but the latter looked completely unafraid of the scarred officer.

"Shall we analyze the evidence?" Athar asked. He looked to the back. "For you did bring it, did you not, Mr. Black?"

And, indeed, through the elegantly dressed crowd streamed the followers of Cullen, a harsh contrast to the finery of the eve. For they were ill-dressed, in rags, dirty, hardened and tough to look upon. And the most hardened of them all seemed to be Jacob Black as he stepped forth, flanked by his right-hand man, Jonah. Cullen was gone, but they would finish what he started. Jacob dressed in the same black colors, honoring the fallen. He walked up to Athar and Wilson without a word, his features twisted into a grim frown and a resoluteness that he had an important quest to finish.

"Lancers!" Forster suddenly exclaimed as Collins drew his sword. But Jonah jumped forth with two loaded and cocked guns, a grin splitting his face in half.

"Our men have your lancers out in the back. Did you really think you were safe because Cullen is dead?" Jonah asked.

Collins growled, squeezing the hilt of his sword. But Forster had a much more sinister look plastered on his features.

"You will let Mr. Black give Sir Athar the evidence," Jonah continued. However, his hands were shaking slightly, almost eager to pull the trigger when he locked eyes with Forster. A snarl on the captain's face told the same; that he couldn't wait to draw his own weapon.

The crowd was growing restless, yet the men from Raven's Grove, those who had previously been their neighbors, did much in calming them. Bella held onto her parents, holding her breath with the rest of the guests, hoping that this would take down Wilson once and for all.

"Mr. Black, your evidence?" Athar continued.

"This is highly inappropriate!" Wilson exclaimed. "You cannot wildly throw accusations and start proceedings that have the same intentions as a hearing, nay a damned _trial_! This is _not_ the townhouse, there is no jurisdiction here!" the disgruntled mayor kept going. He knew his provincial law well.

Athar smiled. "Good sir, you have made a very astute remark. Yes, this is not the town hall as we can all see. Yes, there are also no judges while we proceed to treat this as a hearing. But I am not just an official of the government of Angloa. I am, among other things, a _magistrate_. I have judicial authority to conduct a hearing or trial if I feel the situation calls for it. I have worked at the office of Internal Affairs, and this is exactly what we dealt with. Murders, extortions, blackmail—my good Wilson I would say this situation indeed calls for it, wouldn't you?"

"This cannot _be_ a hearing! The accused has not had time to prepare a defense!"

"Under certain circumstances, I would agree. But considering that those men who have gathered evidence against you are now dead; Lucas Ridge, Lord Newton, Maria Haste, _and even _Captain Clarke, I would say we could bend the rules. Fear not, Wilson. If I find you guilty here, you will be able to go to the Supreme Court in Safeira to overrule anything judged here. As I have said, this is a hearing, not a trial," Athar said. Such words seemed to calm Wilson a great deal. It appeared he was certain he would win against the Supreme Court, yet a part of him knew his name would be tainted forever.

When the mayor remained quiet, Jacob stepped forward. "I hold in my hand," he said as he turned to the public, "a folder with some essential accounts from 1792 to 1793. In these accounts, it is stated that Hayes during those years had officially been taxed a smaller amount than was considered usual at the time. _Officially_, ladies and gentlemen. In this folder are also accounts detailing Captain Forster's personal records of the same years that show two things. Firstly, Captain Forster _does not_ pay taxes and taxes are not omitted from his salary. They further show that his official salary does not match the amount present in his spending. Secondly, Mayor Wilson, like the good captain, also has an official salary that does not match his spending. He overspends by _eight times_ more than what he earns. Ladies and gentlemen take a good look at this refurbished estate, it has been paid with your overtaxed money," Jacob stated dryly with an extended hand.

Loud gasps and offensive comments started being hurled Wilson's way. But the plump mayor was silent, letting Jacob finish. Forster and Jonah still sent each other death stares while Collins gritted his teeth, unaware of what he should do next. Should he remain by Wilson's side or perhaps try to help Black? Either way, he would not end up the winning man. He had come so far; he had built a nice life and career. He did not wish for it to end, not now.

"Furthermore," Jacob continued. "This folder also has some letters of a lengthy correspondence between Mayor Wilson and Captain Forster during the year of 1794, right until my father, Billy Black, was arrested. It is written in their hands and will prove the terror these two men and their accomplices in Hayes have reigned on this town." He turned to Wilson, pointing an accusing finger. "This information—all this evidence—was possible thanks to the hard work of one man who lost his life at your hands or Forster's hands, Wilson. And you had the indecency to claim his death was a suicide. Lucas Ridge would have taken you down, and you know it!"

Jacob had finished his speech, gripping the folder as Athar gently pried it away from his hand. He turned to Wilson. "Well, sir?"

Wilson looked at both men and then at the angry faces in the crowd. He scanned the interior of his estate, looked at the disgruntled men from Raven's Grove and then broke out into a lighthearted chuckle. "Oh, this is too good, this is," he laughed as he dried away a rogue tear. "You call this evidence?" he asked through the spurts of laughter.

Athar kept a stoic façade but Jacob growled. "It's enough to send you to the hangman's noose!"

"What? Some accounts, boy? Those can be faked, at best! Some letters? Have you ever heard of forged handwriting? People who are so good at copying someone's handwriting that it is practically impossible to tell them apart. Nay, all of this could well be forged, a set-up." Wilson turned to the crowd. "Politicians, corrupt officials like Athar here who wish to take me down; the only protection you truly have. What happens when I am gone? You think it will be better? You will be open to the wolves of Safeira—"

"Lies!" Jacob spat. "You lie!"

"There is no evidence!" Wilson shouted back. "No evidence that would be accepted at any other trial or hearing. This is a set-up." The murmurs now rose in the crowd. Bella paled as she heard some once more switching sides to join Wilson. True, they had not gotten the full picture of what kind of a man he was.

"And what is this accusation that I _murdered_ poor Mr. Ridge?" asked Wilson. "I do regret his passing, but finding a scapegoat will not bring him back," he told the crowd, disregarding Athar and Jacob completely. This was what Athar was afraid of. They did hold true evidence, but Wilson's ability to twist the situation in his favor, to speak to the crowd, had proven in his favor once more. And if he regained control of the situation, they were done for. Wilson turned to Athar and Jacob. "I do not suppose you have any witnesses?" he asked while arching an eyebrow.

Jacob and Athar crossed eyes, Jacob almost looking desperate. "No, there are no witnesses that I know of," Athar acknowledged. He knew he would be paying dearly for this little trick and he suspected not even his brother, the Grand Duke of Cantabria, would be able to help him.

Wilson looked satisfied. Bella gritted her teeth and sprung out from the crowd. "But there is substantial evidence!" she exclaimed. "We as a town are more than enough to attest to Mr. Ridge's good character.

"Bella!" Renée shouted for her daughter.

"Get back!" her father joined through gritted teeth. His face was quickly becoming flustered as his anger and worry for her safety rose.

She ignored her parents and thus also ignored what Edward had told her earlier. "We all knew Lucas burned for the law. He would never give up, not even when he lost Billy Black's case. He was adamant on fighting for his freedom." Bella pointed an accusing finger at Forster. "That man is no Royal Guard, for he does not stand for that uniform. He stole our identity, he bestowed fear on us as a town, he belittled us when he could because we all know it made him feel good." She took a step toward Forster, her back facing the shadows of the gallery. "We all know his involvement in this to be true!"

"Ah, the gullible youth," Wilson smiled sadly. "Miss Swan, while your intentions to clear Mr. Ridge's name are noble, I am afraid casting all blame on Forster will not help—"

She turned to him with a disgusted look on her face. "I cleaned out his apartments almost a month after his passing and happened upon his suicide note. A note, ladies and gentlemen, written in a neat handwriting. Yet he began by saying that he wrote "in haste", how can that be when we all knew that not even Ridge himself could read half of what he wrote when he tried? He was _coerced_ to write that note. And knowing he would _die_, he tried to leave clues for anyone in case they happened upon that note."

Her words made sense. "Aye, but do you have this note on you, Miss Swan?" Wilson asked.

"I…no, not here," she confessed.

He shrugged his shoulders. "What then? We wait here for someone to ride to your house, explain to your servants that they must find said note in your chambers and return, only for us to arrive at the same conclusion? You had that note in your possession all this time. While the wording may be the same, it does not prove it was actually Lucas Ridge who wrote it. Again, it could be forged. And as you said, if it is as unbelievable as you thought it to be, then someone most likely planted that note there for you to find and believe to be evidence. Maybe his maid?"

Suddenly Bella smirked. "I never said his maid was with me as I cleaned."

The whispers in the crowd grew with vigor as Wilson stumbled on his words. Jacob smirked, proud of his friend.

"Was it not a well-known fact that Miss Haste frequented Mr. Ridge's old lodgings often?" Captain Forster spat, momentarily breaking eye contact with Jonah. "Why would it be strange of Mr. Wilson to assume she was there? How else would you have gotten in? Unless, of course, you entered without permission."

"In that case, you would have broken the law, Miss Swan," Wilson was quick to intercede.

"We are not here to condemn Miss Swan," Carlisle Masen shouted from the crowd. "We are here to see justice against those who would oppress Hayes and her citizens." Many cheered at such a statement.

Wilson got into a huff and overpowered the loud chatter with his booming voice, contradicting the situation. He was angry, seemed offended and played the part beautifully. Collins was all astonishment at how Wilson managed to seem so insulted and wounded; like he was actually innocent. And then and there, many started realizing that Wilson would turn the situation around. There would be no justice through the law, not today. Wilson would manage to persuade those he needed to persuade. And once he had the upper hand, those who really knew who he was would be silently dealt with one by one. While Athar remained stoic before such a notion, Jonah and Jacob started losing hope.

Until another sound overpowered Wilson's voice.

Sardonic claps.

Teasingly slow, dripping with indifferent sarcasm. It could be felt, oozing from the darkness as a darker silhouette stood out. Many felt a chill through their spines as they squinted their eyes at the figure.

The shadow unpeeled itself from the wall under the gallery and Bella instantly fought hard not to smile. They all watched in silence as he neared with slow, impactful steps.

The figure held the attention of the entire ballroom, no one daring to breathe as he stepped out from the shadows.

Edward Cullen stood close to Bella, facing Wilson and the half-circle of the crowd, his back to Forster and Collins.

"Y-y-y-you—" Wilson began, his frame shaking. Forster and Collins had assured him that Cullen was dead, they had seen him been shot! Bella reveled in the sight of a frightened Wilson, for it seemed only the man in black managed to instill some sort of fear in him.

Cullen tilted his head to the side, his eyes kept regarding Wilson mockingly, with a teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Did you really think a large crowd would keep me away?" he asked. "I'm offended, Wilson." He spread his hands in a showing gesture. "You have almost all of Hayes here, yet I didn't get an invitation?"

"But you were—you were—d-d-dead!" Wilson shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at him in total disbelief.

"Then why am I standing here?" Cullen asked. He turned to the nearest person, who so happened to be Bella Swan. "It seems the good mayor has lost his senses, madam," he blinked her way.

Her lips spread in a wicked grin as she got a wonderful idea. She kept staring straight ahead as if looking past Cullen.

"W-w-well answer him!" Wilson exclaimed.

Bella turned to him and frowned. "Answer who?" she asked and furrowed her brow. "Sir Athar?" she asked.

Athar, understanding where she was going, now let the mask break and joined in. "I haven't the foggiest to whom he is referring to, Miss Swan."

"But he is right there!" Wilson shouted, forcefully pointing at the tall, shadowy figure. "There, right there next to Miss Swan! How can you not see him?"

More, mainly Cullen's followers, started joining in from the crowd. "Man's gone mad! I can't see anyone next to Miss Swan unless he refers to Sir Athar!" When the rest of the crowd started seeing the fear present in Wilson—how the cocky and confident mayor washed away—they too couldn't help themselves and joined in.

"Liars! You see him, all of you!" Forster growled. "I see him, sir!"

Collins kept his mouth shut.

"Maybe I am a ghost, eh, Wilson?" Cullen blinked playfully as the amusement in his eyes increased. "Returned from the grave your men sent me to, here to haunt you?" He was clearly enjoying every second.

Wilson had never believed the man to be a ghost, but now he was uncertain. He knew of his own crimes and Forster's involvement in them. Then…was that why only _they_ could see him? No! Wilson shook his head forcefully.

"I am not going mad!" He pointed once more at Cullen, nearing him, disregarding his previous fears in an attempt to prove himself. "And I shall prove it." He rushed to the man in the mask and placed his index finger right on his chest. "See, I am _touching _him!" he exclaimed triumphantly.

Now they had all gone white at his action, even Bella grew unsettled once she saw the fire burning in Edward's eyes.

"Maybe," the masked man leaned forward to growl into Wilson's ear. "Maybe I am no ghost, sir." Wilson licked his lips as pearls of sweat dripped from his temples. "Maybe I am something worse."

"This is preposterous!" Forster growled, trying to rush to Cullen. But, alas, he was promptly stopped by Jonah.

"Give me one reason, Forster, and I shoot," the other snarled back. "Which is more than you deserve!"

"I _touched _him!" Wilson stammered, slowly regaining composure as he retook control of the situation, backing away from the frightening man. "T-this here is just a glorified bandit." However, Wilson's wavering voice did not sound as certain as he wished it to be.

Edward sighed; it seemed their little fun was over.

Before Wilson could reply, Edward interrupted him. "Well, it seems I've been unmasked," he responded in a sardonic way. "Even with the most foolproof evidence one could ask for, Wilson, I suspected you might turn the situation to your favor." Edward's voice had dropped any hint of amusement now. It dripped with dangerous intent. "Be glad there _is_ a witness, or I would eventually have been forced to deal with you in another way," he whispered only for Wilson to hear.

Then, the man in black turned to Athar. "I have your witness," he stated for all to hear.

"I am…in your debt sir, but there…_are_ no witnesses from what I understand," Athar said with furrowed eyebrows.

Cullen turned to the shadows, his left arm stretching out in a friendly motion as he called out a name. "Michael, if you please."

Bella noted Jessica Stanley leaning forward in anticipation as another figure stepped out.

He had a pale complexion and pale blond hair. A set of dulled blue eyes regarded the crowd as if he had lived through more than he should have at such a young age. He couldn't have been more than his early twenties. He wore the habit of a friar, the same habit the friars at St. Nicholas would wear.

"Will you tell them your name and how it is you are here today?" Cullen asked as the man came to stand next to him. He seemed timid at the sight of such a crowd but grew a fire within when he caught sight of Wilson.

"My name is Michael Edmund Newton and I am the firstborn of Lord Newton and his only surviving heir," he said in a clear, soft tone. It shook with loaded emotion. "This man," he said as he pointed at Wilson, "had my father murdered in his own home two years ago. I know, for I saw it as I hid behind some curtains. And that man," he said pointing at Forster, "was the one who did the deed."

Complete and utter silence cut through the room with such loaded tension and emotion that no one dared to break it.

"This looks bad for Mr. Wilson, does it not Athar?" Cullen's rich booming voice suddenly asked.

"Why have you not reported this previously?" Athar asked as he turned to Michael.

"This Wilson fellow arrived in Hayes more than two years ago under another name, not wishing to be recognized. He went to my father, first trying to bribe him to put in a good word with the council for the position of mayor. Then he resorted to blackmail. When my father did not comply, he had his accomplice, Captain Forster who was nothing more than a blackguard at the time, stab him several times to death. I was in the same room; I heard my father choke on his own blood." Michael stopped, a hollow look spreading in his eyes. He shook his head and continued.

"Both men saw me, and I had to jump out the window, hearing their horses run after me, trying to get me. They lost me as I was rescued by Friar Blackwood and Friar Nathan and taken to St. Nicholas. I had broken bones and turned feverish. My recovery was a slow one and the first few months I had repressed the memory of the event. I never told them who I was as they never recognized me—or they never acknowledged who I was. They only thing they saw was a man in need of sanctuary which they eventually extended indefinitely. I felt safe at St. Nicholas. The area where I spent most of my time was enclosed from the rest of the church. I didn't have to interact with anyone else. No one went there, I wasn't disturbed."

"And what of this talk, that your father was sighted in Safeira or Wessport? Never bothering to come here?" Athar continued.

"Propaganda placed here by Mr. Wilson. He eventually must have bribed some men on the provincial council and got his post as mayor. I thought I would be stranded in St. Nicholas for the rest of my life. When news of Captain Clarke's death reached me, I knew instantly it was Forster and Wilson, but I was too afraid to speak. When I heard of the taxations—the way they tainted my father's and family's name—I almost took a sword and set out to fight. But I knew I would never win against that man." The snarl on Michael's face alone was enough to mirror what most there felt about Wilson and Forster.

"I understood he had a hand in Mr. Ridge's and Miss Haste's deaths as well," Michael finished.

"This is all very entertaining!" Wilson said flustered. He had removed himself from Cullen, now entirely guarded against him. His eyes kept shifting to the back of the ballroom. "But even _this_ could be fabricated to taint my good name! How many of you knew this Michael Newton even existed?"

Bella and Jacob's eyes locked momentarily. They knew of a son that Lord Newton had, but he spent a lot of time in France and England, where he had been schooled. They had never seen him. It was said he would come some summers and spend them in Adelton Hall, but mostly they suspected he must have either passed his time in Safeira or Wessport.

"There are many who can attest to my identity," Michael defended calmly. "Mrs. Berg for starters, for in my adolescence I would slip into her tavern and ask for drinks that no teenager should drink. Mr. Simmons to continue, for we would play chess in Adelton sometimes. I…kept away mostly from polite society as I believed it to be similar to that of Safeira or Wessport. I…do not _enjoy_ that lifestyle," he admitted.

Athar nodded. "We shall have Mrs. Berg and Mr. Simmons confirm this young man's identity, but it all seems rather clear to me. We have our witness, our extensive evidence and our—"

Suddenly, lancers streamed into the room and the crowd dispersed with frightened shouts. Jonah fired his gun but missed Forster by an inch as Collins dragged him to the side. Before she could react, Bella was taken into the fold of Edward's arms as he protectively held her against himself. Her breath was stuck in her throat as she saw the events unravel. The lancers Jacob's men had taken out must have come too and not been properly supervised.

"Secure Wilson, forget about Forster for now!" Edward shouted commands. He pointed at more people in the crowd. "I will soon join you," he shouted through the chaos. He received a stiff nod from Jacob. Michael's eyes were wide, but he seemed ready to defend himself, as did Athar. While Jonah and Forster were in an open fistfight, Collins had carefully slipped to the back, trying to discern the situation. His eyes were completely locked on Cullen, noting the way he so familiarly held Bella against his chest. It made his blood boil.

Edward turned to Athar and Michael. "You need to get to Lucy's tavern. She will keep you safe there. I will join you there, there are too many lancers and the situation has grown too chaotic. They must have gathered more men from the garrison!"

Athar gave a stiff nod as he and Newton fled with Jacob, forcing Wilson in tow. Wilson growled, trying in vain to break free from the three men which pulled and tugged him, with threats and closed fists to his face. "We follow the plan!" he shouted out like a madman in no general direction. "We follow the plan!" he shrieked as loudly as he could.

Edward took Bella's hand in his and started running for the front. "Where are we going?" she shouted after him, still not over the screams and shock. She saw multiple men who fought for Edward and Jacob stay behind, fighting off the corrupted lancers.

"Getting you to safety!" he told her.

She ran after him, readjusting her hand so it was gripping his as well. Bella was afraid, but now was not the time to show it. They stopped for a faint moment as a group of three lancers caught the sight of Edward Cullen. Like crazed animals, they rushed for them and Edward pushed Bella to the side as he quickly and skillfully fought the men off. But she still saw them manage to get a few blows here and there. She gasped when she saw that one of them hit him hard in the side. Had he removed his stitches? Surely—more than a week after the shot—his wound would not open now, would it? But she remembered how Dr. Blake had had to cut into it, make it larger. She saw Edward wince heftily as he fought more fiercely against the soldiers.

Once they were out of danger, she ran up to him, her hands instinctively running to inspect his side. "Did they get it? Did it tear open?" she asked, feeling the dampness of the black shirt beneath her fingers and staring in horror at her red fingertips.

"Tis nothing, only the stitches," he grunted. "Come, we've no time!"

"I…I cannot let you do this, Edward!" she lashed out. "What if you die?" Her eyes were glazed over with unshed tears.

He took her hand. "I need that determined young woman that used to insult me and bicker with me. I need her cool head and calm presence, please," he pleaded.

Amidst all the chaos, hearing the clanking of metal weapons and shots fired everywhere, she found a calm with him and nodded, quickly forcing the tears back. He smiled back and they were about to continue when another figure now stopped them.

Collins stared wide-eyed at the couple with rage boiling at the sight of Cullen. He gripped the sword so tightly in his hand that part of the handle almost bruised his skin. Bella knew they would duel, and it would not be a friendly sparring.

Edward had no weapon.

"You would kill an unarmed man, Collins?" Cullen asked as he swiftly placed himself between Bella and Collins.

Collins took a fighting position. "I do not know," he murmured, something fleeting in his eyes as he looked at Bella. It wasn't between doing the right thing or following Wilson anymore. It was about one man which he had decided to place all the blame on. The way Collins saw it, everything had gone downhill in his life the moment Edward Cullen entered it. Placing the blame on the masked man was easier than recognizing his own faults.

Bella backed until she reached the heap of lancers, noting that one had a sheathed sword which he had not used during the fight. As Edward distracted Collins, she kneeled and picked it up, unsheathing it.

"You're helping him now?" Collins asked Bella, betrayal now prominent in his eyes. A sense that he had given up mixed with other harsh feelings.

"You could let us go," she told him, handing Edward the saber. Edward was in no condition to fight, he was already exhausted from the previous one, his wound had slightly reopened, and he was out of breath.

"I cannot do that," Collins replied, steeling himself for the confrontation. "I will not do that."

Then the clash of swords rung like the bells of St. Nicholas.

They were fast.

Very fast.

Bella felt herself once more pushed to the side as the two blades crossed. Both fought to kill, and she saw true hatred in their eyes, surprised to find it in Edward's countenance as well. He, who never let his emotions take over when fighting, was now fencing on pure rage and anger, disregarding what his mentors had taught him.

Instead of staring at them, Bella needed to get help. She rushed for the front, hoping she would see a familiar face amongst the chaos. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her, lifting the full and heavy skirts of her dress as she hastened her step.

Standing by the myriad of carriages leaving for Hayes, she saw Emmett, Rosalie, Carlisle, and Jasper. Esmeralda, her parents, and Alice were already in a carriage bound for their townhouse.

"McCarty!" she shouted as she darted up to him in her white dress. "I require your assistance!" she ordered as she took his arm in her hand, gasping after the burst through the hallways.

"Emmett?" Rosalie frowned.

"Miss Swan, we need to leave!" Emmett urged.

"Cullen is fighting Collins and I think he will lose," Bella pleaded.

"You have not seen him fight like I have—"

"He is _wounded_!"

"Where are they?" Carlisle interceded.

"I will lead the way," Bella said quickly, a frantic undertone working its way to the surface.

"It is too dangerous!"

"If we remain arguing here it _will_ become dangerous. I only need someone who can handle a pistol," she said while looking at Emmett. "And Cullen requires your assistance, please believe me!"

"Rose, under the front seats, I store my ivory pair," he commanded his wife.

"You told me you got rid of the dueling pistols!" she argued back.

"Rose, now!"

She quickly got out a small reddish box that housed two loaded pistols in ivory. Emmett placed a harness over his body, holstering one pistol and keeping the other ready.

"Lord Masen, take this carriage back to the house, Miss Swan and I will find another way to return," he urged."

"We cannot simply leave you here and—"

Emmett turned heftily. "I did not ask. Show me the way, Miss Swan," he told Bella who promptly headed back into the estate with Emmett in tow.

"Do what he says papa, he can be stubborn." Rosalie hesitated as she saw the house swallow the broad-shouldered form of her husband. "I think he must go." She had a cold look in her eyes. "Listen to that, listen to men dying, listen to those shots. Those soldiers will swarm this place lest we leave soon, or we will be among the dead, I do not think Forster intends on taking prisoners," Rosalie urged.

Carlisle was torn, he couldn't simply leave his daughter in such a place. Thus, he turned to Jasper. "You keep her safe, Hale," and then headed in after Emmett and Bella.

Bella rushed to the corridor where she had left Edward and Collins fencing but found them gone. However, the clashes of swords could be heard to the east, to the front garden and they promptly followed it.

Meanwhile, fighting under the iridescent moon, Collins and Edward poured everything into their fight. They were matched, both realized it. But Collins knew Cullen was tired and that he would soon have the upper hand.

They did not quip, nor show off any fancy movements; their fight was raw, open, full of emotion and it flashed with their distaste for the other. Collins caught Cullen triumphantly across the chest, drawing first blood. Had this been anywhere else, they would cease the fight and declare him a winner. But Collins wanted _more_.

He kept directing his blade to fence the left-handed man, growling with each coupé, bearing down extra hard, hoping to break the blade. But Cullen was stubborn.

Alas, finally, the masked man felt the sword slip from his hand and the tip of Collins draw near his heart. He closed his eyes, images of Bella flashing before him, regretting he had not done things differently; like telling his father the truth.

But now, in the flourished courtyard of Lionel Wilson, Edward Cullen would draw his final breath.

* * *

**A/N: Back with another chapter! Hope you all liked it. Thank you so much for the reviews on the last chapter :D **

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	31. Chapter 31

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 31_

She darted to the front, a smaller patio with polished terracotta tiles and a small round well in white. The walls encircling the patio were painted in the same white with hot pink bougainvillea flowers resting across the top and spilling down over the side.

There, panting on the middle of the polished floor, stood Collins, the tip of his sword pressing into Edward's chest. Edward's saber was on the floor behind him, he had been disarmed.

She saw the murderous intent in Collins' eyes, a look of hatred, of darkness. He was about to lunge the hard and cold steel into her lover's heart. Bella Swan acted on reflex, darting forward as Emmett McCarty urged her to remain by his side.

"No!" she screamed as she placed herself right next to Cullen. "No!" Her hands gripped the sword and held it at bay, the steel cutting into the palms of her hands as the tears streamed down her cheeks. She only gripped it harder, ignoring the blood that dripped on the tiles.

Edward and Emmett stared in stunned silence.

Collins' eyes watered. "Let go of the sword, Miss Swan," he murmured softly to her. She forcibly shook her head, a determined look spreading on her features as she frowned.

Emmett felt the heavy weight of his pistols in his hands and aimed at Collins. "_You _remove the sword, Collins. I warn you, I am an excellent shot!"

Collins gripped the sword harder, the tip still resting against Cullen's chest. However, young Miss Swan would not remove her hands.

"Things could have been different," Collins whispered, his eyes cast to the ground.

"They are what they are, James," she responded. Her heart pounded madly in her chest as her mouth dried up. The world stopped for a brief second. "There is nothing you can do to change that."

He looked directly at her and revealed the pain within him. It broke her heart in two for she had never seen his eyes so full of sorrow. Collins blamed himself for many things, but most of all he blamed himself for losing her.

"Killing this man changes nothing," she continued, knowing the delicate situation they found themselves in. Around them chaos still reigned, shots and screams mixed together, soon inseparable from each other. "Please, James. Please remove the sword," she pleaded in a broken voice.

Emmett gripped the pistol harder, ready to fire should Collins suddenly change his mind. Collins' hand started shaking. He looked at Cullen, at the man he had grown to hate. He never realized when that had happened, but he loathed the man in black to such an extent that it physically hurt to pull back. He hated that she had been stolen from him, the woman he loved, the woman who wouldn't love him.

The pleading eyes of Bella Swan—a moment of weakness—was all it took. Cullen stared back with a set of burning green eyes as his gloved hand slowly came to pull Bella further into his arms. The moment Collins had removed the sword an inch, Cullen jumped back with Bella in tow. They were finally out of harm's way as Emmett rushed up.

"Go, I'll meet you at the stables," McCarty urged them both, staring at the disgraced major.

Edward took Bella's wounded hand in his, droplets of her blood falling to the ground. Collins stared after them as they ran, disappearing from his sight. His eyes then fell on the blood, slowly filling with unshed tears once more.

Emmett tried to think clearly after the display he had just witnessed. Bella Swan knew Cullen well. _Too_ well.

"Go on," Collins murmured, staring down the barrel.

He'd rather die in the fight than live with the consequences; the drowning darkness eating away at him, piece by piece, the jealousy, the anger, the desperation, and fear.

Emmett's lips pressed harshly together, his finger resting on the trigger. "I did not come here to take lives, only to save them."

With that, he darted past the major, in the direction of the stables.

Collins stared after Emmett McCarty and then dropped to his knees. He was a prideful man. He had held his head high as the honorable major with Bella Swan on his arm. Now she had chosen Cullen over him. Despite the feelings he held for her, Collins could not push away the anger he felt toward the man in the mask. He knew he was jealous; he knew his mind was a mess. But that did not stop him from letting the hatred seep through him.

The way the man in the mask had held her, so carefully, so tenderly. The major recognized it.

He had gained something; knowledge.

The way Bella had acted around Cullen _and_ Masen; he knew she had been lying to him about Cullen for some time. Slowly, after a moment of clarity, when his mind was no longer clouded, Collins saw what he should have been seeing for quite some time.

The pieces fit.

Edward Masen and Cullen were one person.

He realized that both men who he detested were the same, and it made his anger for Edward grow, for he had stolen what was _his_. Collins let out a scream of anguish and anger for having let him get away. He blindly searched for his sword and then let his eyes wander to the horizon.

* * *

He knew what he had to do.

She thought her legs would give out on her. Bella saw him stumble as he dragged her forward. "Edward, we need to stop before you fall into a heap!" she called out to him, ignoring the burning pain in her palms. But he kept dragging her with a sense of urgency and a will of iron.

They pushed onward, toward the stables. He jumped to the side, dragging her with him as a shot ricocheted between the whitewashed adobe walls of Wilson's estate. The perfumed summer air was tainted with the scent of fear and blood. Edward pressed against the wall, listening intently. He turned to her, looking at her for a while. His gloved hand caressed her face. "I will get us out of here, my love."

Then, without hesitating, he charged past the wall and she could hear the scuffle. She heard the punches and grunts as he battled with whoever had tried to shoot at them. Bella pressed her fists to her chest, breathing deeply, trying to steady herself as he cleared the way for them.

She felt useless. Completely useless.

She almost cried from frustration, but then her brow creased. This was what Ridge must have felt, this sense of hopelessness. She could not simply give up now. Bella Swan pinched her eyes shut as the fistfight continued. She unpeeled herself from the wall, envigored by the frisky breeze of a summer's eve.

Edward knew he was losing; he knew he needed to recover. The wound in his side hurt the more he fought. He fought by instinct, knowing the two lancers would surely overpower him in a moment. Another punch landed, aimed at his face while the other directed a jab at his central point, his core.

He growled as he refocused, letting his ire course through him. This was not the time to fight sensibly, not now. He let his emotions rush through him as he gained strength. Time slowed down as he directed his left fist to one man's jaw, sending him flying back. Edward ducked in time to avoid another jab and sent his bodyweight into the other lancer, pushing him to the floor, redirecting yet another fist to his face, effectively knocking him out cold.

He breathed heavily, trying to steady himself, biting through the pain aching in his body. There would be time to rest when all of this was over. He spat to the side, some blood mingling with his spittle. Edward looked around, fervently looking to see where Bella was.

Suddenly, around the corner, came Carlisle Masen with drawn sword. The outlaw came to stand quickly as Carlisle's mouth dropped a little at the scene. He'd been drawn to the shot, thinking Emmett had fired one of his pistols. He was about to speak with Cullen when the other reacted by rushing toward him. Out of instinct, and for fear of the massive black shadow nearing him, Lord Masen confusedly rose his sword and settled into a fighting stance. But Cullen darted past him, his left hand forcing the blade out of Carlisle's hand in time to embed it into the lancer who had been close enough to send the baron to an early grave with his musket.

Carlisle turned around in shock, seeing the lancer fall to the ground, with the saber in his chest, dead before hitting the tiled stone. Both men's eyes crossed for a brief moment, silent gratitude exchanged between them.

"Where are McCarty and Miss Swan?" Carlisle Masen asked.

The moment he had spoken the words, the clatter of horse hooves sounded beyond the wall. "Cullen!" they heard a female voice shout.

Edward and Carlisle headed for Bella's voice, through a small wooden door in the adobe wall. There, next to that door, she seated a great black stallion, Edward's horse. She held the reins to another horse, Wilson's pride and joy, the white warmblood he had so proudly displayed at his first ball. Next to that horse sat Emmett, with a drawn pistol, seating a calico steed.

"Come on!" the Swan girl urged both men.

Edward's lips curled into a proud smile as he rushed up to her and seated his stallion behind her. Carlisle took the warmblood and they all set their mounts into a frenzied gallop, heading for their sanctuary, which was Hayes.

Bella felt her fiancé's left arm snake around her waist as he pressed her further against his form. Every motion of the horse sent her body flying into his, and despite their situation, she blushed, biting her teeth hard together as she saw the lights of the town.

The horses continued to head for it in a frenzied gallop. "McCarty!" Cullen suddenly shouted.

"Aye?" Emmett responded.

"Ride to St. Nicholas and bring the friars with you. I have a feeling this conflict is far from over!" He looked over at Emmett and saw the stiff nod as he and the calico steed suddenly broke away from the group. The rest of them continued toward Hayes, riding past frightened citizens on their own horses or in their carriages, crowding to get in. Edward saw the chaos and wondered if Forster would get to Hayes before the night was over.

They eventually made it in through the walls and Cullen turned the horse to face Lord Masen. "I need you to place Miss Swan in a secure location."

"But I—" Bella began, quickly silencing herself when she realized he was right, she would be of little help now in the chaos. She was certain that when things had calmed down, she could once more be of assistance. "Your townhouse is the closest, Lord Masen, yet I need to know my parents are safe!" she urged.

"I will take you to your house, madam," Carlisle nodded as Edward extended an arm to help her off the horse.

He turned to face them both.

"Where will you go?" Bella asked.

"To the place where all Cadherrans gather," Cullen blinked, setting the stallion in motion and quickly disappearing as some baffled spectators saw him leave.

Bella stared after him with her heart expanding out of pride in her chest. She turned around and saw Carlisle Masen stare her down. "You are quite familiar with this man."

Bella Swan tilted her head. "My name Isabella Swan, Lord Masen. He goes by Cullen, what did you expect?" she smirked as he helped her into the saddle of the warmblood. She heard him sigh as he urged the horse into a canter.

* * *

Lucy helped Ted and Joe remove the tables as more and more people streamed into her establishment. Ever since Jacob Black had come with Jonah, Athar, Newton, and Wilson in tow, many of the townspeople looked to the inn to find some sort of guidance. But it was all a downright mess. Fear was apparent everywhere they turned. People were still trying to force their way past the massive queue of carriages waiting their turn to pass through the four gates of the wall.

"This shitty town!" Lucy exclaimed as more and more people entered.

"What now? Is Forster dead? Will more lancers come?" many asked. Wilson was on the receiving end of hateful looks. "Why not kill 'im!" many shouted.

"This man," Athar began in as loud a voice as he could. "Will stand trial in Safeira, so that his crimes may be shown to the rest of the kingdom—"

"Nonsense, the blackguard deserves no such treatment!" someone screamed from the growing crowd. People of all social classes intermingled, trying to find information in the tavern.

"He deserves death for what he has done to us!"

Athar knew that his control was quickly waning from his fingers. If they did not calm the men in that room, they would soon have a raging mob to add to their problems.

"No one is getting killed, ya twats!" a rough female voice shouted. Little Lucy wafted her dirty washing rag about herself. "If ya be in my tavern, ya will behave like common folk," she spat. "With some fuckin' dignity!"

Athar grew red at the final statement. Others did as well for Lucy rarely swore. But when she did, even sailors would blush.

"Mr. Black," she turned to Billy. "Ya have the word." She figured he could calm the citizens of Hayes. He had a way with words, that much she knew.

"Lucy Berg is right," Billy nodded. "Do not give way to anarchy, to—"

"He killed Lucas and Maria, he killed Captain Clarke, he even killed Lord Newton!" many shouted in unison.

"Aye, he did. And let it then be known to the rest of Angloa what happens to corrupt mayors who steal and kill the people," Billy counterargued. "He will be sent to Safeira, he will stand trial, he will lose."

A chuckle broke through; eerie, frightening, hollow. They all turned to stare at Mayor Wilson who looked at them with despise and disgust in his eyes.

"Kill me now, and when Forster comes with his mercenaries you will all be burned to the ground!" he spat. It evoked frightened whispers. "Yes, _mercenaries_. Did you really think we didn't have a contingency plan? A literal army is coming to wipe you from the surface of the earth," the mayor said smugly.

Many grew alarmed at such words. "Army? What bloody army?"

"The Royal Guard was supposed to protect us, but they have turned their back on us!" an older woman exclaimed as the tears started falling.

The whispering rose until people started screaming from fear.

"Someone gag the weasel before I cut out his tongue myself," a dark voice growled suddenly from the top of the stairs.

They turned to see Cullen stand there; battered, but alive. There was some blood in the corner of his mouth, and he gripped a sword while he had tucked away a knife next to a pistol in his sash. His presence dimmed the light in the room and settled the wagging tongues immediately.

"Now!" he ordered forcefully with a low and dangerous growl. The usually amused countenance had been replaced by a tough and serious exterior that no one wished to anger.

Without hesitating, Lucy happily stuffed the dirty rag in Wilson's mouth despite his protests, securing it in place with another rag tied around his head. Cullen slowly walked down the stairs as people silently moved out of his way, entirely awestruck.

"And cast him into one of your upstairs rooms, Lucy. Have two guards in there with him, I suggest Joe and Ted, and two posted outside. We will talk to him when the time is due. We have more pressing matters to attend to."

Cullen's decisiveness in the face of chaos calmed the people in the tavern. They started following his instructions as he came up to Lucy, slowly resting against the bar, fighting hard not to show any signs of weakness. Edward squared his jaw, his side burned, the wound must have opened up again. If he kept getting hit in the side, he feared it would never completely heal. He caught the attention of the entirety of the tavern while Wilson was taken away in protests.

Jacob walked up to him. Had they had time, Jacob would have gone against his better knowledge and embraced the man he'd thought dead. Yet, the joy showed in his eyes, although it was deeply intermingled with the worry for the more pressing matters at hand.

"What now, Cullen? We lost most of our men in Wilson's estate, we cannot count on the Royal Guard. Forster must be riding to get those mercenaries that Wilson was speaking of."

Cullen saw all eyes rest on him, expectant faces not knowing what to do. "We, here in this tavern, are not the entirety of Hayes," the dark voice said. "There are more people to this town than just us." Many nodded in unison at his statements. "I want you all to go to each house and ask for every able-bodied man to join me in the old square in thirty minutes under the tree where Simmons plays chess. You will not take no for an answer. Explain the situation to them and they will come." He turned to some men in the corner. "_You_ lot will ride to the four main gates and see to it that they are locked and secured, make sure every little entry into Hayes is shut. We have a wall, let us use it. Find people to post by the gates, should some straying villager come for shelter."

Without a word, they set to work. Edward leaned against the counter once more, biting his teeth together and squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. A loud slam sounded next to him as Lucy wiped a glass. Cullen looked to the side and saw a bottle of whiskey; a finer vintage. "It's on the house." The large lady leaned forward as her face contorted into a frown. "But don't get used to it!" she chuckled.

Edward reached for the bottle, removed the cork with his teeth and took a large sip. The strong alcohol would help with the pain. But he would not take more, for he needed his head clear for the night, which would no doubt be long.

Athar came up to him. "What of Wilson?" he asked. "I need to speak to him."

The dark and ominous eyes regarded Athar. "Wilson has something up his sleeve, and I am not speaking only of Forster and his supposed mercenary army."

Athar's eyes fleeted away; the stoic arrogant countenance of the proud middle-aged man dropping for a moment.

"And you know something," Cullen pointed at him. "You were not simply sent here to investigate the rumors surrounding the deaths, murders, and tax-fraud," the man in black continued as he unpeeled himself from the counter, taking another sip and harshly setting the bottle down with a loud thud. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You were sent here by someone to cover something up." The masked man tilted his head to the side. "Wilson is blackmailing someone powerful, is that it? And you were sent here to cover it up—"

"Not so loud," Athar hissed, dragging Cullen to the side. It would be hard to speak with him away from prying eyes. Half of the inn—those who had yet to leave—still stared at him with awe and a sense of hope. "Not here," Athar urged. He nodded to one of the vacant rooms upstairs. Both men slowly climbed the stairs. Cullen shut and bolted the door after himself as he turned to the impeccable Willard Athar.

"I am listening." He neared him, standing tall and threatening. "I want the truth, Athar, the full truth."

"Even _I_ do not know it," Athar exclaimed as he wafted frantically with his hands, an irritated gesture which gave away what he truly felt.

"Well, who sent you?" Cullen asked, tilting his head to the side. "Was it really your older brother? Was it really because of Lucas' letter?"

Athar's shoulders tensed visibly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He paced back and forth in the room. "Trusting a man in a mask!" he muttered to himself. "…madness…"

"Willard!" Cullen urged. "In little more than twenty minutes, I am supposed to reassure every citizen here of how to deal with an army of an unknown quantity. I am supposed to organize our defenses, make sure no one _dies_ tonight. I need all the information I can get. You do not _get_ to keep secrets, not anymore—"

"Says the man in a bloody mask," Athar exclaimed. "I mean, in-in what _world_ would I ever reveal anything to a…a man practically considered an _outlaw_ by the authorities?"

"Maybe in a world where corrupt mayors and officers did not abuse their power and murder to remain in control?" Cullen muttered sardonically. "You do not get to comment on my mask, you know very well why I hide my face—"

"There is no reason to anymore, Wilson is revealed for what he is—"

"What if there are more?"

Despite the serious and alarming situation, Athar laughed. He burst out into a faint chuckle at first, which only grew sadder by the minute. "What? You take on the rest of "them"? The corrupt power in Wessport, Safeira?"

"If I have to," Cullen deadpanned.

Athar turned to him, grimacing. "If I am to tell you why I was sent here, I need to trust you, Cullen. _Fully_."

Edward eyed him. He knew officials, magistrates. This was a politician and he had never trusted in politicians. But he so needed the information. With a frustrated sigh, he did the only thing he could, bargained with the only thing he had: his identity. Maybe he would regret it later. Edward hoped he had not judged this man wrongly. What they said about the Athars, after all, was that the family held onto their honor and their word like no one else.

"I hope it is worth it," he growled as he reached behind his neck to untie the laces holding his mask together.

Athar stared in disbelief as the man before him unmasked with hefty movements. He removed the hood covering his head and face, sliding it over until it rested in his hand.

The older man took a few steps back, shaking his head in astonished confusion.

"E-Edward bloody Masen?" Athar said in baffled disbelief, not expecting to quite be so overcome by the revelation. He had expected a bourgeoise or a farmer's son who'd become inspired by the revolution in France. But never a baron's son like Edward.

Edward spread his hands, irritated. They did not have much time. "I stand before you unmasked and bared in good faith, Athar. Now, you will tell me who sent you here."

"I have more questions—"

"If we survive the night, I shall answer them all," Edward promised.

Despite their situation, the corner of Athar's lip tugged. "You'll not go die on me now, will you?"

Masen's head tilted again to the side, relaxing as he noted Athar had grown humorous. "Now? Never, it's getting too interesting." A twinkle emerged in his emerald eyes. "Who sent you."

Athar took a deep breath, knowing he was going against high orders by telling this. But he had made a promise to himself. This man, despite the face now revealed to him, was practically the embodiment of General Cullen. And, Athar argued, had not his family flourished by working _together_ with Cullen in the distant past? Indeed, his ancestor, Thomas Athar, had once joined forces with General Cullen in Raven's Grove. Thus, this was no different.

"My older brother and…His Majesty sent me. It was a direct order, but I was told to keep it a secret."

"The king?" Edward grew shocked. "Did they tell you why?"

Athar shook his head, walking to the bed positioned at the far end of the room. "Only that Wilson has uncovered some sort of state secret that His Majesty fears could bring down our government and his family were it to be leaked. When my brother received the letter from Lucas Ridge, he did not pay attention at first, he has a lot on his plate as it is in the capital. But when he discovered the man Mr. Ridge spoke of to be Lionel Wilson, he saw it as an opportunity to take him down, His Majesty did as well."

"So, Wilson is blackmailing him," Edward murmured.

"My brother told me Wilson had some sort of letter in his safekeeping relating to this secret."

"Surely some scandal with some mistress?"

"I…believe it is far more notorious than that. I…have never seen my brother so alarmed, or the king so nervous before. Whatever this is, sir, it is far beyond what you or I could comprehend. I was to find this letter, some way or another. I had hoped to get it tonight, after taking Wilson into custody. But after the fiasco at his estate, it was not to be. I do not know if he keeps it there—if Forster is privy to this information as well—"

"Wilson must have been blackmailing His Majesty for some time, then," Edward supposed. What had Wilson's demands been? What had he asked of the king?

He started putting on the mask again, tightening the laces and tying them at the base of his neck.

"Where are you going?" Athar asked, getting up from the bed.

"To the source. Only Wilson knows where this letter is."

Edward started heading for the door, but Athar rushed before him to it, consequently blocking it for him. Alarmed eyes in gray-green widened, some strands of his graying hair slipping out of the otherwise neat knot. "Not even _I _was made aware of the contents of that letter, Edward. And I am the Grand Duke of Cantabria's brother for God's sake!" he exclaimed. "I cannot allow you to further inquire about this."

The man in the mask gently removed the hand which blocked his access to the door. "You have no choice. Your brother and His Majesty sent you and I will help you. We find this letter and we find out who else knows."

"And then?"

"Was Wilson ever getting a trial in Safeira?" Edward asked seriously.

"I cannot say."

"Then you are more naïve than I gave you credit for. If he is the sole holder of this information, your brother and the king will dispose of him, either by locking him up or worse, considering the value of this information."

"That is why neither you nor I can know!"

"I just revealed my deepest darkest secret to you, Athar. You do with that information as you please." Edward turned the handle. "But you know I am the only chance you've got at retrieving that letter. And if I am to do that, I must first know its contents." He stepped out of the room, Athar followed him, silently cursing to himself.

"We need to interrogate the prisoner," Cullen demanded in a booming voice, once more attracting attention from those few left in the tavern. In fifteen minutes, he was supposed to be in the old square, figuring out how to defend against Forster and his mercenaries.

"O-of course, s-sir," one of the guards, no older than sixteen, stuttered. They opened the door and allowed both men entry.

"I ask that you leave, gentlemen," Cullen growled to Ted and Joe who without hesitating left the room quickly.

Wilson sat on the bed, his cravat untied, his frock cast to the side and the buttons of his waistcoat undone. He had unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up and removed his wig, revealing the shaved head underneath.

"They respect you, Cullen," Wilson muttered, amused by the display he'd just witnessed. "I give you that, at least. You inspire the same awe the original did. But you are not him."

Edward dragged a chair by the desk next to the door, slowly letting it scrape across the floor until coming up to Wilson. He turned it and straddled it, resting his arms across the back, leaning forward in a casual manner.

"Athar, lock the door."

"I see you have the same mannerisms of a commoner, like Forster. Will you beat me? Do you find enjoyment in such activities?" Wilson asked, yet he still did not seem bothered. "Aye but your friend Athar will not let you kill me." Wilson leaned in with a gleeful expression in his eyes. "I now understand why he was sent."

Cullen leaned forward with a sadistic smile curling on his lips. It was enough to make Wilson's skin crawl. "No, Athar will not let me kill you. But who says you need all your limbs? I hear you enjoy food—enjoy talking—Wilson. I do not think you'd find much enjoyment in food were I to cut out that pesky tongue of yours."

The comment made Wilson pale instantly.

"Better." Cullen settled back with a satisfied smirk. He gestured toward the man behind him. "I hear you've been rather busy, even since before arriving here in Hayes. Especially in relation to His Majesty."

"That supposed trial in Safeira will never take place, you know it Athar," Wilson said, stretching his neck to lock eyes with the older man. "Your brother and the king know it as well... _if_ His Majesty knows what is good for him."

"This secret I've heard of," Athar asked. "Who else knows?"

"Has brother dearest told you? Or simply sent you to clean up the mess he couldn't?" Wilson smirked.

Edward produced the small knife tucked away in his sash. "Careful with that tongue, Lionel," he warned.

"Where is the letter?"

"Where I want it to be, safe."

"_Who_ else knows?" Athar growled, sprinting to Wilson and grabbing him by the collar.

"Enough people. If I die, they will reveal _everything_." Wilson's chins bobbled as he spoke.

Athar found his breath foul and cast him aside. "You lie!" he snapped.

"Can you prove that?" Wilson asked.

No, neither of them could, which bore down heavily on them both.

"What is in that letter, Wilson?" Edward demanded, but now out of pure curiosity.

Wilson smirked at him. "Oh, something you could never have imagined in your wildest dreams." He settled further on the bed. Beyond the tavern, they could hear people walking toward the square, gathering to wait for Cullen. "It tells of a tale of this country, reveals the secret of something that we as Angloans have ingrained into our national identity. Aye, it is a confession, made by a man on his deathbed, too burdened to keep it to himself anymore."

Wilson delighted that he had captivated their interest.

"I will indulge you, not because you threaten me, but because I want you to know. And maybe, when I have finished, you will understand what lies the Fell dynasty has been telling us for the better part of three centuries," Wilson spat.

"Three centuries?" Athar asked with a frown.

Cullen let his eyes trace back to Athar for a split second, just as confused. They tensed in anticipation, not knowing if the information they were about to hear was even truthful. Yet, in a sense, it almost felt sacrilegious to sit there and let Wilson reveal such a well-guarded secret.

"The letter reveals the truth concerning the relationship between three people. They were Edward Cullen, the General of the Northern Armies and defender of Angloa. Well, you know the story. Isabella Swan, the daughter to the then believed traitorous Count of Cadherra, promised away to Cullen in matrimony against her will. And, finally, William Fell, the prince who was lost, yet miraculously returned in the hour of need." A peace settled in the room as Wilson's features darkened, his mind transported somewhere else. A clock ticked by in the corner, the wind rattled the windows, and downstairs, footsteps could be heard by those few left in the tavern.

An eerie tranquility extended; almost a sorrowful one.

"The confession was written by King William Fell laying on his deathbed, mere days before passing. He dictated it to his oldest child at the time. And it reveals the true nature of his absence and his return to Angloa."

"Everyone knows this story, Wilson," Edward said. "Every man, woman, and child from east to west and north to south on this island."

"Aye…the story of Lady Isabella and Edward Cullen fascinated me as a child." Truth, honesty, and sadness shone through the dark interior of his soul.

Wilson shivered. "I found it a tragic affair," he sighed. "They always spoke of the intense love between those two, how destiny brought them together, despite all odds. They spoke of General Cullen's fierce loyalty to Lady Swan, and her deep affection for him, despite his appearance, despite the frightening mask. I thought General Cullen's death at the battle for Adelton Hall in 1521 was a gross injustice. It wasn't fair. Stories concerning love should end happily, is that not what they tell all children? That everything has a happy ending?" Wilson asked them.

Edward couldn't help but agree internally. The story was indeed tragic, but a beloved one. It was an important part of their history and identity; the story of Edward Cullen, the tragic war hero of Angloa and his love, Isabella Swan. The triumphant return of a long-lost crown prince, William Fell, of his rise to power, his defeat over his traitorous sister. The man in the mask—the ghost which Edward Masen had chosen to embody, the whisper of the past _that_ carried with it—leaned forward.

"We cannot change the past, Wilson, however tragic we find it. Cullen died that day, three hundred years ago, in the arms of the woman he loved."

"It is a _lie_," Wilson leaned forward to say, shaking his head. "There was a truth that was never revealed, kept secret. William Fell and those in his immediate circle thought it would be received wrongly by his lords and twisted by his enemies."

"What lie could be so grave that His Majesty wishes to have it remain hidden?" asked Athar. "Did the king have intimate relations with Swan while she was still engaged to the general?"

The pudgy man shook his shoulders. "Why do you think the general wore a mask?" Wilson asked them.

"Because he had horrible scars, thought to have received them when he lived in the East, before coming to Angloa," Athar answered matter-of-factly. "He acknowledged so himself."

"False," Wilson said. He looked at Edward. "Why do _you_ wear a mask, Cullen?"

Edward's mouth started drying up as he slowly connected the dots. "To…hide my identity," he whispered. The eyes slowly widened behind the mask as a light turned on. He leaned back, slowly shaking his head. "What you imply…it cannot be…"

Wilson frowned, suddenly come down once more in melancholia, staring at the ground. "I did not believe it either. Years of retelling the story of that man, of Edward Cullen, has rendered him a myth. I could never believe him to be anything else but the legend I loved as a child." Wilson laughed dryly as his small eyes narrowed while looking at them. "Edward Cullen and the king, William Fell, were one and the same," he spat.

Athar slowly sunk down on the floor, his face white as a ghost's. Edward's pulse hammered loudly in his head at such a revelation. "Why would he hide such a thing?" he asked himself.

Wilson flayed with his arms. "Because the man's goal was always the throne. The bastard played the long game, smart enough to realize he'd be recognized so he returned as a soldier in a mask and made a bloody name for himself. And what a name: _Edward Cullen_, the bloody Lion of the North. What a shitshow when he himself realized that Cullen, despite being considered of low birth, was _admired _by the people, even some lords." Wilson leaned forward even more. "So, he had one of his most trusted men put on the mask and get killed during the final charge against Adelton Hall. William took the throne and the woman, he won everything."

"That cannot be," Athar mumbled.

"The people of Angloa have been told a lie, a lie that Cullen was one of them, one of the people. The peasants think they can use him as an inspiration." He turned to look at Edward. "You chant Audeamus with the rest of them, yet your supposed symbol is not a man of the people, he _used_ the people to get a claim on this country. It was a man of _blue blood_ that ultimately took down the usurping queen, who schemed like the rest of them; he was never above them. Edward Cullen— William Fell—was the most horrible player of all in that war."

Silence. Long, drawn-out. Suffocating. It extended as Athar and Edward understood that Wilson was telling them the truth—a truth the mayor himself seemed to believe.

Yet, despite such a revelation, the man in the mask squared his jaw. His fiery emerald greens drilled holes into Wilson.

"I don't care." The sentence was simple, yet it weighed in such a way that it took Wilson off guard, if only for a moment.

Edward removed himself from the chair, placing it to the side. "I only care about what he did with the mask and then without it, which was _good_. Edward Cullen took down a tyrant and William Fell brought Angloa into a golden age. No matter how you twist these words, the people will not believe you," he growled, looming over the fat mayor, gripping the back of his chair and his face a mere inch from Wilson's. "For that is what you are best at, Wilson, twisting words."

"The king is not as naïve as you." Wilson's lips spread into a faint grin, thinking he had unnerved the masked man.

"You think too little of the people if you think they will riot over this."

"Oh, but they will, and His Majesty knows it." Wilson leered even more. "And he wishes to avoid angering the people…too much. He knows what is good for him, he knows that what happened in France could happen here." Edward wondered how far the blackmail had gone, how much Wilson had forced the stressed monarch to do.

The masked man pushed away from the chair, looming over the mayor. He walked to Athar and helped him off the floor. "When Forster falls, you fall with him, Wilson. I will find that letter, with or without you," Edward promised, opening the door.

"I will be free before the end of the week!" Wilson spat. "And see the monarchy crumble before the end of the next one. His Majesty went too far wi—" Edward slammed the door shut, watching the guards.

"Go in there, gag him. Not a _sound_ from that man until I return, is that clear? He speaks with no one, and no one speaks with him," he told them.

"Aye, sir!" the guards stammered, Joe and Ted quickly rushing in.

Edward turned to Athar. "We go to the square and speak of this after," he said stiffly to Athar, still processing the words. They rushed down the stairs, already late.

"I think I will go mad," Athar muttered under his breath.

Lucy frantically wiped the counter of her bar. "Took ya bloody long enough!" she screamed their way. "I've got people askin' fer the past five minutes were ya were!"

"I hope you told them to—"

"Sent them back, the lot of 'em," she blinked.

"Bless you, Lucy," Edward smirked.

She threw down the rag and placed a shawl across her shoulders, leaving the bar to one of her barmaids.

"I ain't missin' this now fer the world!" she sighed as they stepped out into the fresh night. "Oh, I be feelin' young again!"

Edward mounted his stallion and rode on ahead to the square, knowing everyone in Hayes would be waiting for him there.

* * *

**A/N: Hi again! Hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. As I have to work overtime at my job right now, I do not have the same amount of time to edit the chapters as I did before. Therefore it will be difficult to upload twice or thrice a week although I will try my best!**

**I hope you all are (still) having a good summer (I'm afraid it is coming to an early end over here in Sweden, at least in my opinion).**


	32. Chapter 32

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 32_

Charles Swan pushed his way forward through the gathering throng. When two men had turned up at his house, asking him to join them in the square to listen to Cullen, he had done his duty and gone without hesitating. Robert had joined him together with every able man of his household.

He remembered how his wife had run down the stairs, accompanied by their daughter. Even now he could hear Renée's protests.

"But you are safe here," Renée had urged, eyes growing red and blank with unshed tears. "S-stay with us." Her hands fervently grabbed onto the cloth of his coat.

However, Bella Swan, poised behind her mother and wringing her hands with determination in her eyes, had shaken her head.

"Go," she had mouthed. His daughter, while afraid, understood the implications, _why_ he needed to go.

The square was filled beyond its capacity. People had started climbing the nearby buildings and were sitting on the roofs to get a better look.

Charles saw Simmons seated under the tree next to the statue of Cullen. He saw Jacob and Billy Black.

Amidst the vastly growing mass of people, Charles spotted the by now detested uniform of the Royal Guard. Sgt. Thompson and two other lancers were with the people. It appeared the kind-hearted and naïve sergeant had chosen a side. Surprisingly, he didn't get any dirty looks from the inhabitants of Hayes. Maybe it was due to their worry with more current matters. Or, maybe, they too understood that Thompson couldn't be reprimanded because of matters out of his hands. He had, after all, not followed the direct orders of his superiors.

Charles saw fear, nervousness and uncertainty spread among the people. Whispers that Forster was coming, that he had an army aimed for Hayes, swelled like a wave through the crowd. The night was illuminated by a few torches. Their resplendent flames intermingled with the lit street lamps and the beams of the moon.

"Forty years in this town, n' I've never been witness to such calamity," someone muttered next to him.

"A dead man rose from the grave, what else did ya expect?"

They all murmured, buzzing like a beehive as they strived to find some logic in their current situation. Charles didn't know what to think. He wrung his hands, hoping the rumors of an army to be false. An image of his daughter and wife appeared in his mind. There could be no army. He shut his eyes tightly, almost willing it to be so.

"Sir," Robert leaned forward to whisper in his ear as Charles' eyes sprung open.

"What?"

Robert, who was much taller than Charles, directed his finger to the far end of the square with wide eyes. The murmur of the crowd gained strength, extending like a wave from the plaza, pushing forcibly against the peace of the night. Two men rode through the throng and the people parted for them like the Red Sea.

Edward Cullen seated a black beast—a proud stallion with a glossy mane as black as a raven's wing. His horse walked calmly up to the statue, its rider quiet, collected. His relaxed countenance invoked a sense of peace in them. Willard Athar was right behind him, still trying to get his head around what Wilson had just revealed to them.

The sea of people pressed their lips together and a deathly silence emerged. The men in that square waited for the ghost to speak, to settle their worries and fears.

Cullen was not real. He couldn't be. He truly _had to be_ a ghost. As the people stared, some truly thought him returned from the dead. And yet — there he was — in all his glory, as real as the person standing next to them.

Many believed that if they reached out, they might touch him and find the warmth of a real person. However, those who were more superstitious kept at bay. A few men, the more religious lot, held onto their faith, saying prayers under their breaths as their eyes remained as wide as when they had first seen him. They knew he was on their side; that much had been clear ever since the first time he had been spotted in Hayes.

However, the figure he cut — imposing, frightening, dark — served to alert them.

Mr. Simmons stood next to the statue, gripping a chess piece — a black knight — in his left hand. His eyes had grown wide as saucers as his lips trembled in a faint smile.

"My name is not important, who I am is not important," Edward Cullen spoke, his deep voice ripped through the tense silence, causing the people to stir. He regarded the familiar faces in the sea of people. Among those were his own father, his brothers-in-law, his soon to be father-in-law, friends, acquaintances, people he would not lose to Forster.

"What _is_ important is the man coming for Hayes, coming for Cadherra," Edward Cullen said to the men. "What _is_ important," he continued as his voice grew stronger and graver, is that we must defend our town, our county." Lines of worry, lines of fear were present in the faces watching him. Yet a spark of hope gave him more fodder. "It is time that _you_ stand up against tyranny, against men like Forster, like Wilson," he told them.

"Aye!" many agreed.

"I know some of you have never picked up a sword or a pistol, have never fought a day in your lives." Edward pointed beyond the wall. "But if we do not strike back now…" he trailed off, not finishing his sentence, leaving the rest implied, hanging in the air. He looked down and shook his head.

"There may not _be_ a Hayes left," he finally murmured.

They saw him sigh as his shrouded eyes scanned the crowd.

"Will you help me fight them? Will you help me restore justice for Lucas Ridge, Maria Haste, Lord Newton, Captain Clarke, and whoever else may have fallen prey to Wilson and Forster?" he asked. The crowd hesitated with a held breath.

"I cannot do this alone," his grave voice said again. "I cannot do this without you."

A faint echo from the back broke out — the lone voice of a young boy. "Aye, but we're with ya!" it said fervently. More joined the young lad and the echo swelled like a wave.

"Aye!" the entire square finally roared back, the uncertainty gone, the fear subsided. Glittering eyes looked to him in their hour of need and felt secure to have him with them. The roar extended itself amongst the crowd. Jacob's breath was taken away at the commitment. Their entire town and outlying villages had come together to defend Hayes. After months of harsh living conditions and fear of Forster's regime, it had culminated in this.

Slowly and increasing in strength, he heard it, faint at first, but then extending from the crowd until it was chanted so loudly that it had to be heard all the way to Coldwick.

_Audeamus_

_Audeamus_

_Audeamus_

"_Let us dare!_" the men roared with their clenched fists in the air, with a spark of hope in their eyes. They looked at the man who would lead them, who _had_ fought for them, symbolically for three hundred years. He had returned when all hope was lost.

Billy Black had tears in his eyes as he witnessed the events unfold before him. What he had dreamed and wished for — for Angloans to stand up for themselves — was now finally happening. They would receive no help. No one would have the time to come to their aid. It was them against an army. But he knew that they had a fighting chance now. They had to.

Edward Cullen gave them a stiff nod and then turned to those closest to him. "Mr. Black, Jacob," he said through the chant.

"Aye, sir," Billy answered.

"Take some men and divide these people into those who can brandish a sword, those who can ride on horseback, those who can shoot a firearm, and the rest. Have some other men go to each house and ask for whatever weapons they may have."

Billy and Jacob nodded.

"Newton, Athar, you are coming with me," he told them. Cullen looked through the throng. "Sgt. Thompson!" he shouted as an undertone of joy touched the otherwise severe voice. "It is good to see you here, please join us," he blinked.

Thompson grew flustered but did as the masked man bid while Mr. Black and his son set out to obey Cullen's orders.

When Forster's and Wilson's actions had been revealed, Thompson had not given it a second thought and had broken away from them. He may be an inept soldier, but he was not a traitor. He, together with two lancers — those who were still loyal to the crown and Angloa and had not been in Forster's pockets — followed the man on the black horse. Cullen rode toward the garrison, where the gates stood wide open.

Edward dismounted the stallion and led the horse inside. The garrison looked in a state of abandonment. It seemed like the lancers who had been stationed there had rushed toward Wilson's estate when summoned. Lances, some muskets, and other weapons were strewn around the courtyard.

"Thompson," he told the big soldier. "Release all the prisoners you are holding, bring them up to speed, and then send them to the old square to join Mr. Black and his son."

"Aye, w-will do, sir!" Thompson saluted, ignoring that the outlaw he had previously chased now commanded him like his superior officer. But Thompson reasoned that it was only fitting: Cullen was a _general_, or had been one, after all.

Cullen was followed by the other men, but was soon stopped by a voice behind him.

"Sir!" a familiar voice called out. Cullen turned around, thanking the mask that hid his expression as Carlisle Masen, Emmett McCarty, and Jasper Hale walked up to him. "We wish to join you."

The man in black let go of the reins of his stallion, letting it roam free in the courtyard. "You already have, Lord Masen, and if you would return to the old square and to Mr. Black —"

"I was one of the keepers of Mr. Ridge's information…as you very well know, and as such my sons-in-law and I wish to personally join you and help defend Hayes against Forster."

"Lord Masen," Cullen stated, fighting to keep his voice neutral while eyeing Emmett who could not remove his eyes from him. "Last time we had a tête à tête, one of your footmen nearly shot me."

Masen arched an eyebrow. "Well, considering the circumstances — and the fact that you broke into my house — it could have been worse, don't you agree?"

Cullen chuckled; his voice low, dark, smooth like honey. Something felt strangely familiar about this man and Carlisle couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He noted now how Cullen kept his distance from him.

"Well put, my lord," he nodded and it was shortly followed by a sigh. Edward knew his father better than anyone. He would not turn back until he had been brought into the fold. Cullen motioned to Collins' office. "Let us get comfortable first," he said as he started heading for the building.

The others joined him, walking up to the door which they found was half-open. They followed Cullen who led them down the hall. He appeared more than familiar with the place. Carlisle wondered if maybe he was one of the soldiers who had decided to disguise himself and fight against the corrupt captain. He quickly pushed the thought out of his mind. He had no right to speculate on the man behind the mask. At least not at a time like this.

They ended up in Collins' neat office, some documents stacked on his desk, waiting to be filled in. The room was spartan, lacking decoration. The men stared at the bizarre space, only lit by the silver moonlight filtering through a window. Cullen entered the room without a word.

Seeing him in the office of the commandant of the garrison was strange for some reason. It was like seeing the moon out during the day or a flower blooming in winter. He did not belong there. He was not supposed to _be_ there.

The man in the mask searched through some cabinets until finding what he was looking for. He walked over to the wall where some candles were placed and lit them, filling the space with a warm light, breaking through the cold bluish light of the moon.

"Close the door after you," Cullen whispered as he lit a few more candles. When he was done, he moved to a corner — the one with the most shadows. He was still careful not to show too much of himself considering who was in that room with him.

Michael Newton removed the friar's habit once the room started getting warmer. He pushed his blonde hair out of his eyes, hypnotized by the dancing flames. A million thoughts rushed through his mind. However, most of all he couldn't get rid of the feeling that Forster and Wilson weren't done with them or with Hayes.

Athar sat down in the chair behind the desk, wondering if he would come out alive from this whole mess. The story Wilson had told him about Edward Cullen and William Fell kept nagging at him, eating away at him.

Carlisle stood before the desk with his sons-in-law, waiting for someone to speak.

Cullen had folded his arms and leaned into the corner, momentarily closing his eyes. He savored the sudden peace they found in that office. He knew he might not find it again that night.

"What now?" Michael's questioning voice startled the peace, extinguishing it like a candle. He hadn't directed his question to anyone in particular.

"We should send someone to Safeira or Coldwick," Athar suggested. "Wilson said Forster would come with an army of mercenaries. We need all the help we can get…"

Another moment of silence followed until it was broken once more.

"Aye, he said an army, Sir Athar," Emmett nodded. "It must be an army he could hide in plain sight without raising too much suspicion." His eyes drifted over to Cullen. "In Raven's Grove…did Black or you or any of your men stumble upon a group of mercenaries?" he asked.

He saw the corner of the masked man's lips twitch in what appeared to be approval. "No, but your train of thought is in the right direction, Mr. McCarty."

"The right direction?" Michael asked.

"If they weren't hiding in Raven's Grove, Wilson and Forster must have kept their men in a larger town, probably Coldwick or Maesir," Jasper answered. Slowly, his hands balled into fists. "Forster never came chasing after us when we fled Wilson's estate," he continued.

"He must have ridden for his men then," Athar nodded. "I heard Wilson shout to him, _follow the plan_," he growled.

"We must still send someone to Safeira," Michael urged. His inexperience showed. For while still having faced the hardships that he had, he did not know of confrontations or battles.

"We cannot." Carlisle, who hadn't spoken until then, stood in the middle of the room, staring at the floor. It had dawned on him for some time now. "It takes at least two days of hard riding to get to Safeira. Even if we send a rider now, he wouldn't arrive in time."

"And how would it look?" Jasper continued. "We send a man to them to explain that we have held a hearing with one magistrate…and not even in the town hall, but at a private estate."

Jasper turned to Athar.

"The evidence is more than acceptable, Sir Athar. But the whole situation would not look good to an outsider. It would appear as if we had rebelled against our local authority, sending Captain Forster on the run. Even if you are the brother of the Grand Duke of Cantabria, we wouldn't have enough time to explain everything. Supposing Forster either rode to Coldwick or Maesir, he would be here before our messenger returned — _if_ he returned with reinforcements."

"I see only one option," came from the corner. "We have walls, let us use them."

The group processed Jasper's and Cullen's words. "You aim to fight them," Athar sighed.

"Most of these men have never picked up a sword or pistol in their lives," Emmett argued. "Surely Forster knows this?"

Cullen straightened up, standing with both feet planted firmly on the floor. "If we surmise that Forster never had his men in Raven's Grove, he either rode to Maesir or Coldwick. Coldwick is the larger town within only a few hour's ride away and with the better road. I believe _that_ is where he rode, to the east. I think he will return with those men and attack in full force against our gates until he gets through. And once he is through, if we haven't set up our defenses by then, he will have won. This town will be stormed by mercenaries. I will not explain to you the horrors they might bestow on the inhabitants of Hayes," Cullen growled.

His words hung heavily in the air. They left a sour aftertaste for every man in there knew he was right. No one wished to fight despite what they had heard him say in the square. They knew lives would be lost.

"Even if we organize ourselves as you have instructed Mr. Black and his son to do, we still stand at a disadvantage," Carlisle argued. He wished it wasn't true, but he could not deny that they were unprepared for a fight. There had never been a threat of a siege, the walls weren't what they used to be. The doors had been updated some fifty years prior as the older portcullis doors had grown rusty and too heavy for daily use. But, despite the reinforced entrances, Carlisle was certain there were several weak points in the structure.

"I agree. If they have enough men and put enough pressure on the walls, they will eventually break through. That is why we must take the fight to them," Cullen argued. "It is true that only a few of us could take them down while on the wall until our bullets run out…and then we are at their mercy, surrounded and practically in a siege until we surrender."

"What do you have in mind?" Athar asked, his interest now piqued.

A shadow of a smile worked its way onto Cullen's lips. "We record history for a reason, gentlemen," he blinked. "During the Singing Battle of Adelton Hall, Lord Alistair attacked the castle with all his might. He was winning until Cullen's army arrived from the south and effectively trapped him in. He couldn't fight a battle on both sides and he eventually fled."

"The cavalry…" Carlisle trailed off. "You mean to attack from behind?"

"There are very few men who are apt on horseback in this town," Emmett warned.

Jasper, however, grinned for he realized where Cullen was going.

"If we lie in wait in the woods, we can attack them periodically, taking out a few of them at a time with the ones at the front being none the wiser. It might ease the pressure the front might be putting on the wall," Cullen said. "It is the best solution I can give."

Carlisle eyed him for a while. "You have fought in battle before," he said to the masked man. He received no answer, only the stern stare of two burning eyes.

After a while the tension subsided.

With heavy steps, the dark form walked up to his unknowing family, standing in front of his father, blocking most of the candlelight. Carlisle only saw a silhouette, not knowing it was his son standing before him in disguise. "Will you ride with me, Lord Masen?" the dark voice asked.

Carlisle found himself surprised at the request. He knew what it could mean to venture outside of the walls. But Carlisle knew his duty and what he could lose should Forster break through the walls.

"I…I would be honored," he finally answered.

The burning eyes looked at Jasper and Emmett who answered in the same tone as their father-in-law.

Emmett stepped forward to Cullen, his face blank, the tension rising. "When this is over, I want a rematch" he said as his eyes creased at the edges.

The corner of Cullen's lips tugged upward.

Cullen stretched his hand forward and it was clasped by his unknowing father in a firm handshake.

"Sir Athar, Lord Newton, I suggest you remain within the walls..."

"You will not soon find me wielding a sword, sir," Michael answered frantically. "I fear I may cut myself and only add to the chaos. I shall help wherever I am needed here."

"I suggest Lucy Berg's tavern might be beneficial in one way or another. I shall go there and turn it into our temporary headquarters, Cullen. If you take care of matters beyond the wall, I will hold the peace within them together with Mr. Black," Athar smiled.

It was settled then. Their short meeting seemed to have born enough fruit for their plan to proceed Without much else to say, the Masen family returned to the square, deciding that they would help Mr. Black form the cavalry. Athar and Michael went to Lucy's tavern. Cullen sought out Mr. Black with new orders.

They sent men to keep a lookout to the east, west, and south. The north was only a dense forest for miles and they were certain Forster had not ridden in that direction.

Cullen confirmed his suspicions; Jacob had not heard of any bandits residing within it. Forster's men would not arrive from the north.

Once Billy organized the men into groups, he sent Jacob to speak with a vast group of men on the ground that would keep guard on the wall. Those who could fire pistols were placed at strategic spots along the wall as well as on some nearby roofs. Those who could fight with swords on foot would wait by each gate, in case they were breeched. Already, men had begun building barricades in the nearby streets to herd whoever broke through the wall.

When they had finished, Cullen let a small sigh escape him. Jacob, Billy, Thompson, Jonah, Joe, Robert, and a handful of other men were surprised at the show of fatigue the man in the mask displayed.

"Go to your stations, make sure the men sleep in shifts to get some rest. Those of you who are not supposed to be on the wall, go to Lucy's or wherever you can find a bed. Get some hours of rest, you will need it."

"What about you?" asked Thompson.

Cullen was exhausted; he knew that if he was to lead the charge, he needed sleep. "We left the estate a little over four hours ago. I believe Forster has his men waiting either in Coldwick or Maesir, both more than five hours away—less if he gallops the entire way. We have until dawn," Cullen stated. "And I need rest as well."

The man in black went for his horse which he had tied to the side of the wall where they held their meeting. Some children had gathered enough courage to walk up to it and see if it was real or also a ghost like Cullen.

Edward ignored the pain in his side. The bleeding had stopped but he would have to inspect the wound once he returned.

"Let us meet here again when the sun rises."

"Alright," Billy nodded, not bothering to ask where Cullen would stay, it wasn't his business to inquire.

* * *

Edward rested his covered forehead against the cool stone of the cramped corridor. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, willing the pain in his body to go away. The moment he was left alone with his thoughts, he truly processed Wilson's words.

What even _was_ "Audeamus" anymore? _Who_ was Edward Cullen? The identity he had borrowed became more and more blurry with each passing minute.

The scent of wet earth, dust, and rotting wood permeated the corridor as he dragged his feet up to the small room where he stored his gear, weapons, and disguise. The secret room in his chambers had served him well, leading down to a hidden entrance in the garden wall. He could come and go as Cullen whenever he pleased.

Edward sat down on the chair, staring at his gloved hands, a frown working its way into his face behind the mask. He leaned against the back and stared up, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light, his ears discerning footsteps beyond the little enclosed room. He didn't have the strength to face his questioning family. He didn't have the strength to get shouted at yet again by his father for his sudden disappearance at the ball.

He clenched his jaw. Images of Bella passed through his mind, images of her bleeding hands as she had stopped Collins from running his sword through him. Edward felt a guttural growl low in his throat the moment he was reminded of Collins, of the darkness in his eyes. James Collins seemed to have lost himself. The man with so many prospects — the person he had once thought of as a promising ally — was no more.

The latch of the door clicked, and the small panel opened as Joseph stepped in. "Sir?" he asked, alarmed as he rushed to Edward. "Sir, are you hurt?" he asked as he saw the defeated man in the chair, leaning against the back, his head tilted up, his eyes closed.

"No, Joseph," Edward whispered. "Only tired."

"Come, let us get you out of these clothes and have you wash yourself. I have a bath prepared."

Edward imagined he could hear her soft words whisper in his ear. He wanted to feel her skin, breathe her scent, hear her laugh. He wanted to be next to her.

"She is here," Joseph murmured as Edward stood up, relieving himself of the mask. The dark copper locks tumbled into his eyes. "Downstairs, safe."

Safe. He needed to keep her safe at all cost.

"Do not tell her I am home," Edward said. Emerald green eyes gazed at the dirt upon which he stood. No, if she knew he was there, he knew she would come to him and ask him questions. And the answers to those questions would eventually reveal where he planned on going. Bella wouldn't like it.

No, he wouldn't tell her. If she came to him now, he didn't know if he had the strength to part ways from her.

"I…I will not," Joseph nodded.

* * *

Downstairs, Bella fiddled with her skirts in the drawing room of the Masen townhouse. She and her mother had gone there, not wishing to be left alone in their own estate now that most servants had decided to join Mr. Black and Cullen. Even her father had gone to man the wall. When Bella had suggested they go to the Masens, her mother had been skeptical, but finally agreed, stating that it was more secure to keep the group together.

She sat next to her mother. On her other side was Alice, dozing off against the cushioned sofa. Rosalie was sleeping in a chaise lounge and Esmeralda placed a small blanket over her resting form.

"I believe we all should get some rest," Esmeralda stated as her heels clicked against the wood. She went over to a chair and sat opposite Bella. "You two may take the guest room," she continued. Her back was tensed, her eyes flickering to and fro. She was finding small tasks to occupy her time, yet. Esmeralda did not wish to think about where the rest of her family had gone.

"Alice, my sweet, we should head to bed as well. Who knows how much sleep we will get before this horrible situation is over?"

Alice snapped out of her trance, she rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I will wait up for Jasper a little longer," she whispered.

Bella pressed her lips together and stared at the beige rug beneath her feet. She longed to see Edward.

Esmeralda sighed. "There is little we can do now, Alice. But getting some rest —"

"But what if Forster attacks?" Alice shouted. Her voice awoke Rosalie and she darted up from the chaise, an alarmed look in her eyes as she quickly took in her surroundings.

Alice was worried for her husband, as well as for her father. Bella stepped away from her mother's embrace and reached for her friend. She took her hands in hers, ignoring the searing pain from the fresh cuts as they ached beneath the bandages. Silent speculation had dashed through the women's minds as Bella's hands had been bandaged, yet none of the women had asked about the cuts.

Bella kneeled next to Alice.

"We need to keep our strength, Alice. Being deprived of sleep will help no one. When the time comes, and our assistance is required, we need every ounce of strength we can muster. Jasper will come," she said. "Lord Masen will come." She looked at Esmeralda. "And Mr. McCarty will as well. Let us prepare for the night and give them a place to rest when they do return. I am certain it won't be long now."

"How can you be so certain?" Rosalie frowned. "What is to say that Forster will not come barging through the gates of Hayes this instant?"

"These mercenaries we have heard of could not have been kept in Raven's Grove or Jacob and his father would have happened upon them. They have to be close, accessible. Therefore, Safeira and Zafra must be ruled out. I believe they are either in Maesir or Coldwick; cities large enough to hide a larger group of men and not raise suspicion, yet close enough to get here within a few hours," Bella answered.

"Maesir and Coldwick are more than four hours away by horseback, galloping at a continuous speed." Renée agreed. She took in the eyes of the alarmed women watching her. "If Forster rode to either of those places the moment we all left Wilson's estate, he might still not have arrived there. I could not imagine his horse is faster than anyone else's. He must still be on the road. And then there is the issue of gathering all the men." Renée paused briefly when she realized what she had said. An army was heading their way. But the resolute woman refused to let that affect her. "They will not be here in another six hours at least."

"Then we could have sent someone to ride to Safeira!" Alice exclaimed.

"It takes _days_ to ride through Raven's Grove and Sorossa. Besides, how would it look if we told the officials or even the king that we had imprisoned the mayor, and that the captain of the Royal Guard was on the run?" Bella argued. She squeezed her friend's hands. "Rest, Alice, this will all soon be over, you shall see. I have faith in Hayes, in Cullen, in Jacob. We shall all overcome this. But we need to be resolute in order to do so."

Alice nodded, a hint of uncertainty in her golden eyes.

Esmeralda showed Bella and her mother to the guest bedroom where they could get some hours of sleep. Bella hadn't bothered to ask where Edward Masen was, knowing it would either cause alarm because they didn't know of his whereabouts, or irritation, because he kept away from the conflict. He had enough issues to tackle as it was.

Bella stood next to the window while Renée prepared the bed. The women were still fully dressed, too tired to change into the nightgowns they had been provided. Some faint drops smattered against the glass as the skies slowly let the rains fall. Chocolate orbs scoured the road below the window as she gripped the sill and her brow furrowed.

Where was he?

Renée watched her daughter's profile, the lines in her face, the worry she expressed in her stance. She knew there were many things her daughter had not told her. She knew there were secrets, hidden away in the depths of her mind in the depths of her heart.

"Rest, Bella, that is what you need," came the smooth voice of her mother.

But rest was something Bella wouldn't get. Not until she knew Edward was safe. She trailed her thumb along the bandage of her left hand, absentmindedly looking at it. Renée hadn't asked what had happened to her daughter, but Bella remembered the look in her eyes and how she had appeared torn inside. Whatever it was Bella had witnessed, it had affected her.

Bella remembered the way Collins had almost rammed his blade through Edward's heart. Had she not been there to stop him, Edward would be no more. The very thought made her breath hitch in her throat.

Bella felt a presence near her in the subdued room as raindrops hit the windows with more force. In the distance, she saw the torches light up along the wall. The watchers were preparing for the impending confrontation as the rest of Hayes tried to find some sort of rest. Renée looked out the window together with her daughter, placing her arm around her. Bella hadn't noticed how she was shivering, how her jaw was clenched.

"Who out there has my daughter so worried?" asked her mother, turning to look at the chestnut-haired beauty.

"No one," Bella mumbled.

"I cannot imagine this is all for…your fiancé," Renée whispered, her eyes locked on the rain falling.

Bella didn't answer her.

"All those rides to Raven's Grove, to St. Nicholas…your father may not know…," Renée turned Bella to face her. "But a mother's intuition knows many things," she whispered. It sounded eerie, breaking through the thick tension in the room hanging heavily in the air.

The young woman slowly looked up at her mother, her white dress shining in the silver light of the moon cascading through the window, making her look like a ghost.

"Mama —"

"Rest. When this is all over, you will explain yourself to me…to your father," her mother whispered.

"It isn't what you think —"

"Rest," Renée commanded. She trusted her daughter. Yet, to her the situation seemed as it appeared — Bella was engaged to one man while she betrayed him with another.

Bella walked wordlessly to the bed and laid down. Despite her heart pounding loudly in her chest, she fell asleep instantly, soon joined by her mother. She wasn't aware that Edward Masen was just down the hall, sleeping soundly as well, recovering for the fight that would take place in a few hours.

The Masen townhouse settled and became eerily silent, almost dead. At one point, Carlisle, Emmett, and Jasper returned after having spoken with Jacob and Billy Black in the town square. They too needed sleep as the hour passed midnight.

The household settled strangely into the night as the rush, anxiety, and worry seemed to dispel. However, they did not sleep soundly, much like the rest of Hayes. In the stillness, they were plagued by thoughts of the upcoming battle, nightmares about whom they might lose in the fight to come. The stillness stretched its weary tentacles through Hayes. Those few who remained awake took to the bottle to keep their spirits up.

In the darkness of the night, no one noticed the group of men slowly slipping through the cracks in the still disorganized guard, moving away from their hiding place along the northwestern wall. They had managed to slip inside the secured town when everyone else were still arriving from Wilson's estate. They had been in hiding until the town settled down. Now, in the light of the moon, they made their way to one house. The leader of the group looked at the townhouse with murderous intent, grasping the handle of the front door: it was unlocked.

He stepped inside and signaled for the men to secure their positions. "No one enters or leaves, take the weapons, make sure all exits are locked," he whispered to them.

The lancers nodded stiffly, running through the house, locking in the few maids and footmen who remained in their rooms. Collins paced the vast foyer, looking up the curved staircase leading to the upper level.

He would catch the fox in his den.

Carlisle noticed the faint echo of footsteps down the hallway. He slowly straightened in his bed, casting a glance Esmeralda's way. She was still asleep. Hesitantly, and careful to make as little noise as possible, the baron walked up to the door, hearing dull steps filtering through the thick oak. The moment he turned the cold metal handle, it suddenly opened, sending him flying back. Carlisle tumbled to the floor with a groan, growling in anger as he collected himself on the soft rug only then to find a musket aimed at his face.

"Any weapons here, Ulric?" the voice behind the musket asked.

"Aye, I've got them," answered Ulric, one of the lancers who had guarded the west barricade the night Cullen saved the farmers from the noose.

"Who are you?" demanded Carlisle, not yet completely awake. "How _dare_ you barge into my home?"

"Carlisle?" the panicked voice of his wife cried out as she darted up from the bed, shrieking when she saw the intruders.

It was only then that he noticed their uniforms. Lancers? Had Forster already arrived? But that couldn't be. He cast an eye to the clock in the corner, it wasn't even past three in the morning. They were supposed to have a few more hours left.

The musket neared his face further. "Stand up!" the lancer spat. From the corner of his eye, Carlisle saw one of them grab Esmeralda and drag her from the bed.

"Don't touch her!" he screamed, only to receive a hard strike across his face with the butt of the weapon. The metallic taste of blood mingled with his spittle, some of it dripped down the corner of his mouth.

"Get up!" the lancer growled. "Or Ulric shoots her."

With wide eyes, Carlisle struggled to stand up, the musket still aimed at him. Roughly, he was shoved out of the room toward the stairs, where he saw the rest of his family being led — or rather — dragged. Jasper tried in vain to struggle against two other lancers only to receive a staggering blow, sending him tumbling down the stairs. Alice rushed after him with tears in her eyes as Emmett beat another lancer with his fist. However, his fight was short and fruitless. Three other lancers trained their pistols on him and his hands were quickly tied behind his back.

The lancers urged the rest to walk down the stairs. Carlisle pushed through the pain now pulsating from the blow to his mouth, and blinked harshly as he leaned on the iron rail of the curved staircase. Esmeralda supported him as best she could, fighting hard not to cry. Renée Swan followed silently, her face ashen and her lips thin.

At the bottom of the foyer, standing on the marble floor with his hands behind his back, in his impeccable uniform, with a determined look on his face, stood none other than James Collins. He regarded the Masen household in silence, ignoring their looks of betrayal and malice.

"Get your hands off of me!", a female voice shouted fiercely. Bella Swan, the last to join the party, was being dragged by a lancer who had a strong grip around her wrist. She kicked and clawed like a wildcat, not willing to give up without a fight. Despite their current predicament, Renée proudly watched her daughter resist. Nevertheless, the soldier finally subdued Bella with the help of another.

When Bella emerged at the top of the stairs, she saw Collins patiently waiting at the other lancers accompanied him, all sporting muskets in their grips. With the whole family now gathered before him, he eyed Bella Swan with sorrowful eyes. The only person missing from the group was Edward Masen.

"Where is your son, Lord Masen?"demanded Collins.

"Traitor," Carlisle growled, stepping forward, only to be stopped by Ulric.

Collins walked up to him, his icy blue eyes fixed on those of the older lord. "Circumstance has placed me in a position I never wished to be in." He sighed and raked an agitated hand through his blond hair, upsetting the neat ponytail. "_Where _is your son?" he asked again, with more force.

"Even if I knew I'd never tell you," the proud baron snarled with a tug in the corner of his lips.

Collins eyed the others for a moment. He felt the eyes of the family glaring and criticizing him. "You don't know," he finally stated. "About him."

When he had uttered those words, Bella almost sank to the floor. No. No, it couldn't be! Collins had come for Edward because he _knew_. The icy blues now turned to look at her. She still saw a hint of the old and kind major in them.

"I could never accept that Edward Masen had taken you from me," he murmured as he neared her, now completely ignoring the rest of the spectators in the cold foyer. "I thought you had been deceived into marrying him."

"James," she whispered. "I implore you, do not do this."

"I love you, Isabella Swan. Despite everything, you still tried to see good in me at one point. I believe you still do."

She nodded as her lips quivered. "There is still time to turn back," she agreed.

"But is there still time to get _you_ back?" he asked her.

All eyes rested on the two. Alice looked at her friend with horror, clinging onto her husband with shaking hands. Esmeralda and Renée watched on in fear, Collins appeared like a bomb about to explode. The men gritted their teeth, wondering how they could get out of this situation and alert the guard. Emmett struggled against his bonds, ignoring as the rope painfully scratched into his wrists. If he could only free himself, he might overpower one of the lancers and grab his musket.

Bella watched Collins for a long while, her chocolate orbs so open, so tranquil as they regarded him. He knew she would not lie to him, regardless of the situation.

"I do not love you," she finally said in a broken voice.

Collins breathed out harshly through his nose, slowly shaking his head in a strangely accepting manner. "I…thank you for your candor." He stepped closer to her, ignoring the horrified onlookers and the tensionin the room. Softly, he cupped her face in his hands. "But you _did_ love me once, didn't you? And couldn't you again?"

"H-how could it have been love, James?" she asked. "You loved the idea of me, the lady you wished me to become, the one who rides who speaks properly, who entertains. That isn't me."

"But it _could_ be!" he urged. "You strove to become that yourself. I saw it in you, whenever you were by my side."

She pushed away from him. "Edward has never asked that I change. He wants me as I am."

She saw how he soured, his forehead wrinkled. The impeccable uniform he wore suddenly instilled fear in her, as did the saber resting in its hold close to his hip. He was about to speak, when his lancers interrupted them.

"We found 'im, sir!" they said, showing up at the top of the staircase, aiming pistols at none other than a dazzled Edward Masen. His family noted that he had changed since the ball, dressing casually in a white wide-sleeved shirt. It looked hastily thrown on with the top gaping open and the bottom quickly tucked into his trousers. She noted the hint of bandages under his shirt. His hair looked freshly washed, and some locks tumbled boyishly into his eyes. He wore black trousers and boots that Bella found eerily familiar…they were the same trousers and boots he would wear as Cullen. She only hoped no one else would notice.

"Father, it seems we've been invaded," Edward dryly remarked in his usual nasal voice. Despite the situation, a mocking tone dripped from his words.

Collins snickered at the sight of him. Even if Edward no longer dressed as a fop, the air about him was decidedly still of one. Carlisle frowned, not liking how those soldiers aimed their weapons at his son.

"Bring him here," Collins ordered the lancers. Ceremoniously, they all walked down the stairs. Bella held her breath, her eyes darting from Collins to Edward. What was he about to do?

Edward was roughly brought to stand before Collins. A bored look in his eyes was accompanied by a frown. The fop did not seem to understand the danger he was in.

"You mean to tell me, Isabella, that you would prefer _this_?" Collins asked. Emmett and Jasper pressed their lips shut, partly understanding the soldier's opinion. While Edward no longer looked like a peacock, his mannerisms were still…lacking.

Bella Swan cast a glance Edward's way and then looked at Collins again. "A thousand times yes," she spat, astonishing them all. She approached him determinedly,, angered over his treatment of them all. "You are not _half_ the man he is." Her eyebrow arched and she couldn't stop herself.

Collins curled his lips. "At first I couldn't see why." He eyed Edward.

"Why not? You have the toast of London before you, major! The girl grew some wit overnight when choosing me before you," Edward defended in that same nasal voice. He leaned in. "But I must say that I do take some offense in you trying to steal her away from me," he sighed. "Dear chap, it's a very ungentlemanly thing to do," he scolded.

James neared Edward and leaned forward. "I must say I _am_ impressed by what you have accomplished here." He looked at the family. "Do they know?" When he saw the glint in Edward's eyes, the smile widened. He stepped back again.

"Almost a fortnight ago, Cullen was shot, yet Cullen escaped. I have wondered _how_ and _who_ helped him…," he trailed off, looking at Bella. "You spent that entire night in The Laughing Goose, which happens to be in close proximity to Dr. Blake."

Bella paled.

"Mere hours ago, at Wilson's, Cullen's wound was ripped open again when he fought me." Collins now eyed Edward. There was a tension which suffocated, so heavy it felt as if the heavens would come crashing down on them. Bella's heart pounded loudly in her chest as her throat dried.

Carlisle Masen shook his head slowly when he started understanding where Collins was going. "My son has nothing to do with Cullen!" he lashed out. "He doesn't even know how to fence!"

James kept his eyes steadfast on Edward. "The perfect disguise is usually the most obvious one." Masen's eyes went from the clouded bored look to something Collins recognized immediately. Edward knew the game was over and that there was no need to keep up pretenses anymore. He let go of the dandy and let the one from the shadows take over. The dangerous glint Collins had seen behind the mask so many times was now present.

Collins reached his hand out and was given a pistol, feeling its weight somberly. "There is only one way to reveal the truth," he murmured, watching the weapon in his clenched fist.

They all stood frozen as they waited for the major's next move. Suddenly, and with no warning, he neared Edward and directed a hard blow with the butt of the pistol to his right side. Edward bent over instantly as the air left his lungs. Tears of pain pooled in his eyes as his hand clutched his side.

James waited patiently while the man before him grunted as he slowly straightened up with some difficulty. They all saw the right side of Edward's shirt turn dark, its white fabric marked by a growing stain of blood. The moment Carlisle saw it, the air left his lungs.

"Blood never lies, _Cullen_," James spat.

The rest of them watched in stupefied silence.

Edward completely dropped the act.

"You came here to gloat, Collins? Miss Swan already told you, she chose _me_," Edward growled with a smirk spreading on his lips. His family all flinched at the unfamiliar voice emerging from his lips, not at all used to the dark and rasping voice.

James unsheathed his saber. "I came to finish what I started at Wilson's," the major said with an icy tone, pointing his saber at Edward.

Edward spread his hands. "You would kill an unarmed man, Collins?" Edward repeated what he had asked him at Wilson's estate.

Those who did not yet know of Edward's secret watched astonished, as the young man transformed before them. He lost the hunch in his back; he grew a snarl on his face and a murderous intent spread in his eyes.

"Afraid I will best you…this time?" Edward teased in a fashion that could only be attributed to another man, that of Cullen.

James growled and stepped to one of his soldiers, unsheathing his saber and tossed it to Edward who caught it with his left hand, swiftly feeling its weight.

"Lancers," Collins ordered, not breaking eye contact with the man before him for a second. "Should Mr. Masen disarm me, you have my permission to take down Lord Masen and his sons-in-law. Leave the women be."

Edward's eyes darkened.

Slowly, the family was pushed to the walls by the lancers. The middle of the vast foyer was now free for the awaiting confrontation between Edward and James. The electric intensity in the air grew tenfold. Bella's heart was stuck in her throat and her eyes wide. Emmett leaned forward in silent anticipation, his eyes about to pop out of his head. He wouldn't believe it until he saw it. Carlisle watched his son in disbelief, trying to process what had just been revealed to him. Yet, a small part of him still didn't want to accept it. Alas, there was the blood, the proof Collins had spoken of and more was to come the moment both men crossed swords.

Slowly the two men circled each other, their eyes locked in a silent battle as an animal and almost primal instinct settled on their faces.

James lashed out first, his sword low, so fast that it was almost missed by the spectators. Edward deflected the blade and they started their dance. The clash of blades ripped through the otherwise silent night. Collins pushed Edward back, and Edward took care in reading his opponent. The battle was, for the better lack of a word, _marvelous_. It was a mastery of fencing unlike anyone of them had ever seen. Both men poured everything into the duel. Collins advanced in a long lunge, swiftly deflected by Edward who reverted it into a _glissade_, sliding Collins' blade along his own. They continued in the same manner, both equally matched.

While others were fully distracted by the battle, Bella moved stealthily through the group, closing in on Emmett and slowly untying his bound hands."The lancer at the back is the most distracted. If you can get his musket, and Lord Masen overpowers the one farthest from the left, we may have a winning chance," she whispered under her breath. Bella stood stiffly, her frantic hands shaking as she struggled to loosen the tight knot. Emmett subtly nodded, not taking his eyes off the fight.

Collins and Edward had started sweating. Suddenly, the major pushed Edward into the railing, noting how he was grinning at him. "You are losing, Masen," Collins growled. "Like earlier tonight, so _stop_ smiling," he spat.

But Edward paid him no heed. "I commend you on your seriousness regarding this matter," Edward growled back with an undertone of amusement gracing his features. His eyes glittered dangerously as they would behind the mask. Collins pushed away and directed a punch toward Edward's wound.

Edward doubled over just as Collins darted for him with his sword. Swiftly, Edward's instincts took hold of him, as in a series of quick and graceful maneuvers, he once again evened the score.

"I only lost earlier this night, James, because I was fighting with one hand tied behind my back," Edward continued. Bella noticed that his breath was heavier now. He was getting tired. "But I am not now," he growled as his eyes turned dark. With a push of his foot he sent Collins flying back on the marble floor. Edward cast the sword to the other hand. He had been fencing with his left the entire time, and it was then that Bella remembered that Edward was right-handed.

Collins lunged for him, but this time, the situation had changed drastically.

Edward, now fencing with the hand he truly favored, held the upper hand.

The clashes of their swords sent jarring echoes through the foyer. Their fight felt prolonged, as if there was never an end in sight. Bella truly had no idea who would come out the champion. Carlisle was just as engulfed by the quick attacks his son demonstrated as Emmett or Alice.

As both duelists started feeling the burn in their arms, the satisfied look in Edward's eyes betrayed him. Collins, who looked about ready to fall to his knees, pushed through his fatigue as best he could.

Edward encircled his opponent's blade, making the steel cling in the foyer until finding an opening to disarm him. Before Edward could react, however, Bella heard the lancers prepare their muskets and pulled the restraints from Emmett's wrists. She leapt forward and pushed into one lancer preparing to shoot Edward.

The shot was released but missed Edward by a hair's breadth. Emmett rammed into two lancers at the back while Carlisle and Jasper followed. Rosalie had removed one of her shoes and slammed its heel into the head of another lancer. The family soon overpowered the soldiers while Edward, soaked in sweat much like Collins, rested the tip of his sword on the major's breast. The fire aglow in his eyes, the stain of blood now grown, and the low growl in his throat were enough for Collins to remain still.

Bella saw the lancers fall like dominoes, dropping their weapons at the behest of Carlisle. Her eyes met Edward's. She knew. He knew: the secret was revealed.

Collins looked at her, at the woman he loved. A hollowness filled him to such a degree that he grew nauseated. He clung onto the sight of her, knowing he would most likely not see her again. Chocolate brown eyes shifted to watch him. She too was uncertain of how to react. Sorrow intermingled with confusion and anger: _Why_ had he acted in such a way? _Why_ had he been so foolish?

Bella walked up to both men, slowly resting her hand on Edward's arm, the weight bringing him back to the present. "I stopped Collins from killing you," she whispered. "I am stopping you from doing the same. He does not deserve death. He is blinded by his own folly, Edward."

"Bella…" James Collins whispered. It was a broken word, filled with agony.

"You do not get to speak to her," Edward growled, the tip of his sword embedding itself into Collins' chest, drawing blood. "Nor say her name!"

Collins cast his eyes to the ground, the hatred he felt for Edward Masen slowly waning, replaced only by emptiness. He frowned, running a shaking hand through his disheveled hair. "Do your duty," he finally whispered, looking directly into Edward's fiery eyes.

The moment prolonged as Edward hesitated, the tip of his sword still resting against Collins' chest. He felt his lover's hand squeezing his arm. After a while, he retracted his weapon.

"Had you listened to me from the start, major, things might have turned out differently for you," Edward murmured. He looked at Bella, only to regard Collins once more. "Or then again, maybe not."

Bella quickly retrieved the same rope which had been used to tie Emmett's, Jasper's and Carlisle's wrists. She handed it to an astonished Jasper who rushed to Collins and restrained him, and then proceeded to do the same with the still unconscious lancers.

Once the adrenaline and rush from the duel had settled, Edward felt his heart almost rise up to his throat as he turned to his family, the sword in his hand, his white shirt clinging to him, the wound in his side torn open as the faint rays of the sun were slowly but surely spilling over the horizon.

Bella remained close by his side, her face flushed, her eyes wide with something akin to guilt and her lips tightly closed.

Carlisle stared at his son for what felt like an age, the proud baron's nostrils flaring as he tried to form a coherent sentence, only ending in a confused mumble. His eyes glazed over the more he processed the secret which had been kept from him for over a year.

But it was not Carlisle who first approached Edward, nor was it Alice, Jasper or Emmett.

Esmeralda Cullen took great strides walking to her son with such a determined yet haunted look that it sent Edward a couple of paces back, gripping the sword tighter. Aye, the son knew well to fear his mother's wrath.

She stopped right before him, her eyes glancing down to the bloodstain on his white shirt, the sweat dripping from his temples, running down his throat and continuing down his chest.

"_Edward Anthony Masen_," she began with a low voice as a fire roared to life in her eyes. Bella's eyebrows arched in disbelief. Now she saw from whom Edward got his temper. "What on _earth_!" she continued, now screaming as she pointed an accusing finger at her son, "were you _thinking?!_"

Edward opened and closed his mouth several times, frowning as he searched fervently for an explanation. "I…I wasn't?" he mumbled.

He was about to continue when she rushed forward and took his face in her hands. "My sweet son, my _brave_ son," she whispered as tears ran down her face and a smile etched its way onto her lips. She started fussing over him, lovingly reprimanding him, scolding him, taking care in not hurting his torn wound further. Soon Alice rushed forward, muttering incoherent words and her entire body shaking. Jasper and Emmett followed, demanding an explanation. Bella stepped to the side, knowing this was Edward's long-awaited moment with his family. He had been so worried of their reaction, and here they were, pride aglow in their eyes, relief and something akin to joy, a joy she had not known in them before.

"Since when did you know?" a female voice asked in a subdued voice next to her. Bella, startled, turned to see her mother with a hand resting on her hip and a devilishly reprimanding look appearing on her face.

"Mama, how preposterous! I was as much in the dark as the rest of you."

"You have many talents, Isabella Marie Swan, lying has never been one of them."

Bella pressed her lips together. She would not give her all the information. Suddenly, Bella turned to her mother. "Mama, I would very much appreciate it if papa ..."

"Your father, while I do love him very much, is the most indiscreet man in all of Angloa, if I ever saw one. He will not hear a word from me," her mother chuckled.

While mother and daughter spoke and Edward was bombarded by questions from his family, a sudden stillness settled as heavy footsteps neared the group.

Carlisle Masen, the proud baron, walked up to the son he had almost despised since his return from England. Edward's smile was swiftly wiped away as he now stood face-to-face with the man whose approval mattered the most to him, face-to-face with the man to whom he had not dared reveal his secret.

"You are Cullen," Carlisle stated in shock.

"I…I am, father," his son mumbled back as if almost ashamed of the fact. He looked as guilty as he felt. Rosalie held her breath, wondering how her father would react, knowing well the fear her younger brother had harbored at the prospect of telling such a secret.

"This whole façade of the fop and dandy returned from England…it was all a _lie_?" Carlisle asked as he neared.

Edward's nostrils flared. "Aye. I am…sorry father."

Carlisle now stood but a few inches away from his only son and heir, clenching his jaw as he looked at the large bloodstain on his right abdomen. "You could have died, Edward."

Edward sighed. "I never told you," he turned to the rest of the family, "any one of you save Rosalie, so that you wouldn't worry. I…it wasn't exactly planned to turn out this way," he explained.

"I am hurt that you wouldn't confide in me," Carlisle murmured as he looked away.

"Would you have permitted me such an endeavor if I had first come to you?" Edward asked.

"Of course not!"

"I never meant to hurt you, any one of you, with this charade. Believe me," he said with a strangled voice. He abruptly stopped himself when he saw the look on his father's face.

Carlisle neared him, his eyes glazed with unshed tears, a look of shame mixed with bursting pride as Lord Masen finally let his feelings show after his initial shock.

"It is I who should be asking forgiveness, my son, for the way I treated you." They could almost hear the faint break in his voice as he was overcome with emotion. "It wasn't fair, and even if you hadn't turned out to be who you are, I will never forgive myself for what I did to you." A few tears escaped Carlisle's eyes, despite his best efforts to control himself.

Edward's lip trembled at the acceptance from the man he so admired. He handed his sword to his mother and embraced his father who held him hard. "I am so proud, my son. So proud," he whispered into his ear as his tears ran more freely, hugging Edward hard against himself. Edward held his father equally as tight, a few tears mingling with the sweat.

He winced when Carlisle squeezed a little too tightly and swiftly placed him at arm's length. His parents looked at the wound, only now realizing that their son had been shot almost a fortnight ago. "We must get you to Dr. Blake immediately!" Carlisle exclaimed.

Collins was leaning against a pillar, watching the heartwarming scene with a frown, knowing it was a moment he would never experience.

Just as Edward was about to speak, bells blared through the town, raising the alarm, as the sun's rays spilled in through the windows of the foyer announcing the arrival of morning. A commotion stirred outside and everyone's eyes widened.

Forster had arrived.

* * *

**N/A: Hi! You might have noticed I was away yet again for a while. I've realized that editing these chapters is taking so much of my time and I hate to post chapters I'm not happy with. I got a new job about two months ago. I won't bore you with my personal life but getting home at 9 in the evening I don't have the strength to sit in front of a word document for an hour when all I want is a drink and sleep! I have time on weekends but just isn't enough.**

**_However_, the lovely Moonwinks has started helping me editing as my beta. I am beyond thankful for her help and expertise! I can finally breathe out and not be a nervous wreck each time I post a chapter, wondering if I made a major spelling error or chose a strange word for a specific context. I want to give her a HUGE thank you. This will help me keep up to speed with my posting! Thank you all for being so understanding.**

**Thank you again, Moonwinks, for your help with this chapter!**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	33. Chapter 33

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 33_

The eastern gate to Hayes stood wide open. More than fifty men seated their stirring horses, impatiently waiting to ride out into the mist of the morning.

It was mere minutes past sunrise, moments past the start of the new day. They suspected they were only minutes away from their confrontation with Captain Forster and his mercenaries.

Carlisle gripped the reins tightly in his left hand, his right tracing over the handle of his saber. He had two loaded pistols stored safely in his saddlebag, another in a holster slung across his left shoulder. Every rider was armed to the teeth for they were the first defense of Hayes. They were supposed to ride out at any moment and secure positions along the tree line.

Billy Black had taken firm charge of the town and walked down the road leaning on his crutch, making sure all was in order. Along the walls, men hunched over, gripping whatever long-range weapons they had been able to find. Men sported everything from the latest state of the art muskets to pistols and centuries-old guns. Some, for lack of a better choice, even carried crossbows or regular bows. Everything counted in this final confrontation, and no one wished to meet the army without something to swing at them. Another precaution had been made in case the enemy should break through their defenses. Some snipers had been positioned throughout the town on the roofs, strategically placed there by Cullen and Jacob to target the enemy and slow them down.

Left were the men who did not seat the horses or man the walls. They would stand guard by the gates; a total of three hundred dispersed within the city. They were the final line of defense, the infantry which would fight with their swords or their bare fists if the situation called for it.

The ones who could not fight had all been taken to the garrison and would lock themselves in securely. Carlisle had frowned as he saw his wife and daughters turn around in the open doors of the townhouse before he had left with Jasper and Emmett. He gritted his teeth as he remembered the look of fear on his wife's face and Alice's pale skin as she kissed her husband goodbye.

The moment the bells had sounded, Edward rushed to Bella, gave her a quick kiss and then darted back to his room.

Thompson had taken Collins and his lancers to a jail cell in the garrison courtyard.

Jacob Black was currently interrogating Collins as quickly as he could.

The Laughing Goose had momentarily been turned into an infirmary from which Dr. Blake would operate. He didn't want to hide within the garrison if he could help. He felt safe, for he was not only guarded by the stout Lucy Berg, but by many of her faithful patrons and at least another forty men. As a physician, he would not only be invaluable during the conflict, helping to retrieve those who might be dragged back from the walls with severe wounds. He would also be of use later when many more had been wounded and needed immediate care.

Hayes had been transformed from a picturesque idyllic town to one waiting for chaos and destruction to descend.

Carlisle flared his nostrils as some scouts ran about and murmured handed-down orders, making sure all was ready before the cavalry rode out to get into position.

Billy Black came to stand next to Carlisle at the front of the cavalry to be headed by the proud baron and the man in black.

"Are you certain?" Carlisle asked without looking down, his golden eyes trained solely on the eerie mist as it slowly crept through the dew-covered grass. It spilled out from the woods, past the horizon, enveloping the meadows.

"Several of the scouts we sent out have reported movement from the east. Forster is coming from Coldwick," Billy muttered.

The baron glanced at the awaiting meadows, sensing the impatience and fear from the men behind him. The horses stirred, noting the unease of their riders. The flames of the torches danced wildly in the early morning as it became lighter and daylight began to emerge.

Amidst all the fear and awaiting chaos, amidst the unease seizing the men of Hayes, a set of hoofbeats echoed around them. They were impactful, heavy — two drums that slowly increased in rhythm and strength as they moved closer.

The galloping black stallion bore his dark rider proudly to the front as the men watched in silence. Cullen appeared from the darkness like a demon. There were no visible features on his face, only the black mask which covered most of it. Carlisle turned around in the saddle together with the rest and saw him approach.

The man in black pulled on the reins and his horse reared in response. He heard sharp intakes of breath and saw the shadow of a smirk on Carlisle Masen's lips. How, indeed, thought the baron, could this man and his son be one and the same? That seemed impossible. Carlisle was unable to place Edward Masen under that mask, under that charismatic grin, not even when his powerful voice suddenly boomed.

"Everything ready, Mr. Black?" Cullen asked.

"Hayes will endure whatever Forster throws at us," Billy nodded. "The scouts saw some figures but ten minutes ago encroaching on the eastern tree line. You must ride now before they get too close and discover your positions."

Cullen leaned forward in his saddle. "Whatever happens, Mr. Black, the gates are to remain closed," he said somberly. "Is that understood?"

"Aye, sir," Billy nodded with a serious expression slowly emerging on his face.

The man in the mask straightened in the saddle. Despite it all, he seemed relaxed. The discomfort in his freshly bandaged side did not show on his face. "Why so serious, Billy?" He turned to the rest of the men. "It's due time Forster got a taste of his own medicine!"

The men seating the horses behind him roared in agreement. Those manning the wall all shouted "Aye!" back. Cullen had the strange ability to settle them down, to ease their fears—if only for a moment.

He turned to Carlisle, who in this moment, was not his father but his right-hand man who would do battle with him. "We ride, Lord Masen," the dark voice said. It wasn't a question, rather a statement.

Carlisle gripped the reins tighter. "We ride…Cullen," he answered back with wide eyes and a growing smile which he could not suppress.

The gates awaited them, and Cullen set his horse into a gallop, promptly followed by the rest of the men, all riding out into the mist, swallowed by it. Soon, only the sound of their horses' galloping hooves could be heard on the wall. Billy stood watching, waiting. Joe promptly joined him. He had left Mr. Wilson in the careful guard of some trusted friends. He wanted to be on the front as much as anyone.

"Are they in position?" Joe asked as he heard the gates creak in protest as they were closed.

Billy looked past the horizon, to where the cavalry of Hayes had just ridden. He knew little of battles or war. However, he did not like the idea of sending almost fifty men out into the open. Yet, Cullen's arguments had been so justified and so many had agreed with him, that Billy had little choice.

"I know how ya feel 'bout 'em bein' out there," Joe mumbled. Billy's lips thinned. He had refused to let Jacob ride out with the rest of them and noted the irritation in his son's eyes as he had been called to interrogate the captured Major Collins.

Billy turned to the larger man. "I started this whole thing," he suddenly said with clear eyes. "Having those men ride out there feels almost like sacrificing them."

"Aye, ya started this whole thing," Joe nodded. "And now we're all in i' til the end. We, the people of Hayes, have joined ya, Mr. Black. Ya have not forced no one into anythin'."

Billy looked out over the stillness of the early morning. He would not voice the slow terror building inside him despite the hope for freedom that burned within him.

"Just a little longer," he whispered out into the night, "and we will be free of Forster."

* * *

Bella watched, dazed, as the gates of the garrison moved into position to be locked and to shut them in. She was surrounded by women from all stations in society, playing children, crying babies, hunched-over old ladies, and muttering old men. They were the ones thought the weakest of Hayes, the ones the rest of the town believed needed protection.

She gritted her teeth, both in frustration and in fear. She wanted to be out there defending her town as much as anyone. Bella cast her eyes to the long line of cells up along the north wall. She watched closely as Jacob Black and some other men questioned Collins. The moment Collins had been dragged out of the Masen townhouse, Jacob had been alerted and rushed to help. Billy Black had denied his son the opportunity to ride with Cullen, but Jacob felt he could still support the effort by questioning and interrogating Collins. He was certain the disgraced major knew something.

A presence next to Bella startled her. She swiftly turned around and found herself face-to-face with Rosalie McCarty. "Worrying for him will do you no good, Isabella."

Bella arched an eyebrow. "Speaking from experience?"

"I have waited up many sleepless nights for him, wondering if _this _would be the night he would not return," Rosalie whispered.

Both stared at the towering gates yet again. In the distance, Sgt. Thompson was organizing the chaos in the courtyard together with Alice and Renée.

"He will return," Bella murmured in a hollow voice. "All of them."

They started strolling toward the rest of their family. Jessica Stanley sat with her mother, silent tears streaming down her face. Bella slowly walked up to her.

"You mustn't despair, Miss Stanley. I am certain Lord Newton will..."

Jessica angrily dried her tears. "Oh but really, Miss Swan, how could you possibly come to understand the _dread_ a woman in love feels at the prospect of losing her beloved? My Michael is out there," she said frantically. "There with those…those _brutes_ about to attack." She whimpered as Bella couldn't help but arch an eyebrow and cast a confused look Rosalie's way.

"We all have someone we care for out defending the town," Bella said. "But we must not lose faith in their abilities to..."

"I haven't heard of nor seen Mr. Masen with either the infantry or the cavalry. He hasn't even been reported at Lucy's infirmary," Jessica growled. "Speak not of what you do not understand."

Rosalie reacted more strongly than Bella, but she was promptly calmed down by Bella's hand on her shoulder.

"Edward is out there, that is everything you need to know," Bella answered calmly. Then she stepped down to kneel before Jessica. "Sitting here crying will not help the situation, Miss Stanley. I suggest you cease your improper remarks and start acting like the woman I know you to be. My mother, Mrs. Hale, and Sgt. Thompson are doing everything they can to establish some sort of calm in this damned chaos. Rather than complaining, I suggest you help them."

Jessica's lips pressed together firmly, her cheeks slowly getting flustered at such words. Rosalie's eyes were wide while Mrs. Stanley glared at Bella.

"My sweet, do not listen to her—" her mother began.

Suddenly Jessica stepped out of her mother's embrace, taking in the sight of Isabella Swan, standing in her elegant white dress. Now, gathering her senses together, she noticed for the first time the bandaged hands and the faintly smeared blood across the front of her dress, intermingling with the red and blue embroidered flowers that dotted the bodice.

"I…," Jessica began, suddenly ashamed of her words. She realized that Bella must have gone through a much more horrid evening than she, from the looks of it. "Of course, Miss Swan," she finally agreed and started for the offices.

Bella watched as Jessica spoke with Sgt. Thompson and her mother. But her mind was elsewhere. Rosalie saw how she once more turned from the doors of the garrison, slowly stalking toward the edge of the courtyard, not too far from where Collins and his lancers were confined.

Rosalie followed her, a sort of comforting and silent shadow hoping her presence alone would provide support. The young chestnut-haired beauty stood out in the courtyard and people couldn't help but turn their heads as she slowly walked forward. They wondered for whom she seemed so preoccupied, for was it not known that her fiancé was a pretentious fop, perhaps even a coward? He had not been seen with the guests returning frantically from Wilson's estate.

Meanwhile, Jacob Black's tired hand glided over his face as if trying to brush away his fatigue. James Collins ignored him completely, staring emptily to the side.

The moment the bells had sounded, Edward Masen rushed away from his family while Carlisle and his sons-in-law prepared to ride out. The servants of the Masen townhouse, together with the women, were quick to tie up the overpowered lancers and their beaten leader and march them at gunpoint to the garrison. James got his own cell, feeling his humiliation grow and redden his face. He could not look up as the courtyard filled with people casting curious glances his way. But, to his relief, the townspeople steered clear of him, too preoccupied by other matters.

When Jacob heard Collins had been taken and that he would not ride out with Cullen, he had rushed to the garrison in hopes he might interrogate Collins and extract some valuable information from the major.

However, the major was unwilling to share.

"Whatever, I tell you, young Mr. Black, you will not believe me," Collins muttered. His polished facade was a stark contrast to his surroundings. Collins wore his best uniform from the ball. The medals decorating his right chest caught the flick of the torches. He had brushed a few stray strands of his golden locks away. His cravat was tied neatly and snuggly around his throat, his beige breeches free from stains. Collins did not look like he _belonged_ in that cell. He was the very definition of a fine and polished gentleman. Bella closed in, ill at ease as she saw him in his cell, painting an incongruous picture.

Jacob leaned over him, leering slightly, not able to help his slight sense of satisfaction. "But you know something about either Wilson or Forster, I can see it in your eyes," he said. "Tell me what it is, and I shall see for myself if what you say is true or not."

Nearby Bella lurked in the shadows that still remained. She didn't know what had drawn her there, but by now she trusted fully in her instincts. It was the same sensation deep in her gut that had drawn her to Lucy's tavern the night Edward had been shot. Aye, she knew she had to listen to this conversation.

Collins glared at Jacob. He knew, of course, that he would win nothing by lying to this man. By now, to his utter dismay, the major realized that Wilson and Forster must be taken down. That the mayor and the captain had an army of mercenaries for occasions such as these spoke much of their characters. Collins had suspected they had plans to trick the townspeople, but never such a wicked thing as this.

"I never knew of these mercenaries of which you tell me, but I cannot say it surprises me," he sighed.

"How many men does Forster have?" Jacob said coldly.

Icy blue eyes glared back. "I told you, I do not _know_!" Collins said. "You should be speaking to Wilson!"

Jacob knelt before the major. "He will not utter a word." His features darkened. "The lads and I could take you to the dungeons that Forster was so fond of. Perhaps that would make you see reason?"

Bella almost gasped, prepared to spring forth and make her friend see sense when she heard the low voice of the major respond. "You as well as I know that you are incapable of inflicting the same harm that Forster did."

The stark features on Jacob's face softened slightly. He heard truth in those words. "Then what _do_ you know?" Jacob asked.

"Forster has his wits about him," Bella heard the voice say slowly as if Collins was thinking. "I may not know of his exact plans, but I can take a guess at what he might plan to do."

"A guess is no good to me, Collins—"

"It is better than…" Collins cut himself short and looked away in shame. "I will not ignore what I have done," he whispered. "Nor the blindness or stupidity I've possessed." Now he looked at Jacob. "But if there is one thing you can know for certain is that I do not wish for Forster to break through these walls."

Jacob Black's lips were thin, his look fleeting. The wind pushed against them and the two men suddenly found themselves strangely still, hearing only the distant chatter of the women and children in the garrison courtyard. The smell of morning hung in the air, fresh and with a metallic scent to it.

"You do not want her to come to harm," Jacob murmured to himself.

"No," Collins echoed.

Bella Swan gripped her skirt and ignored the pain in her palms. She felt, in a sense, that she was at fault. Had she not urged Collins on and encouraged a courtship he might not find himself in that cell. Her eyebrows knitted together as she rested her head against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut.

"What is your guess?"

"Who told you of Forster's mercenaries?" Collins asked.

"Wilson blurted it out proudly in Lucy's tavern."

"Then both he and Forster wanted you to know," Collins said pensively. "If I heard an undisclosed number of hired mercenaries were headed for Hayes, I would close the gates and man the walls. But I suppose your Cullen has taken a step further than that?" Collins wondered.

A moment passed where Jacob did not answer him, but Collins didn't need an answer.

"Cullen knows the wall might be breached because you are spread thin on it—_if _Forster has enough mercenaries," James continued.

"He plans to ride out with a group of men and take out some of the rear strategically, easing the burden of the main gate," Jacob murmured.

Bella could almost feel Collins tense on the other side of the flimsy wall. "What if…that is what Forster wants? Because, wouldn't it make sense then, if Mr. Wilson revealed the existence of this hired army, expecting Cullen to ride out?"

Jacob chuckled. "That is very farfetched, major."

"Maybe," Collins sprung forward. "But remember Mr. Wilson _and_ Captain Forster's hatred for Cullen is strong, and they fear him. Taking him out could well be a part of their original plan — remember, they did not know he was alive for a while. They would effectively take out the man who united Hayes against them —"

"You would have me believe that Forster would expect Cullen to ride out?" Jacob sneered.

Bella's pulse rose, the blood rushing faster in her veins. Aye, she could believe such a thing.

"They might do it to lure him out — into a trap — that is what I believe."

"They have already ridden out to get into positions," Jacob answered flatly.

A rising panic slowly consumed her as she heard the undertone of worry in Collins' voice now as well. "Perhaps it is better to relocate them, or have them return to Hayes," Collins started.

"You would have me send out one of my men to fetch Cullen, based on your assumption?" Jacob asked. "I can see some reason in it, Collins, but not enough to sacrifice a poor lad's life for it. If I send him out, he isn't coming back."

"That is faulty reasoning Mr. Black and you know it. You choose to question my intuition because of the ill will you harbor against me," Collins spat back. "Had it been Cullen telling you these things, you would have ridden out in a heartbeat... —"

"Aye, had it been _Cullen_, I would. The man is honorable, he is no _coward_," Jacob spat back.

Bella suddenly heard the sound of a struggle that quickly turned into a brawl. She sprung to the other side to see Collins wrestled down by Jacob's men while her friend was nursing a bloodied nose. One of the men holding Collins down was beating him with a closed fist.

"Stop it!" she screamed as she forced the unlocked cell door open, prying the men away from James. "You stop it now! You are no better than Forster if you treat him this way!"

"He punched Jacob!" one of the brutes growled.

Bella turned to her friend. "Are you alright?"

"Nose isn't broken, I don't think so at least," he grimaced, pressing a handkerchief against his nose to stop the blood from flowing.

She took in the sight of the man who had once courted her, then turned to Jacob again. "You must listen to him, I believe his guess holds some truth," Bella said. Her hands waved frantically as she spoke, her eyes wide and fearful.

"Bella, I cannot just send someone inexperienced out there. All who even had a handful of knowledge of fighting and horse-riding rode out with Cullen. If I send someone out, he will not return. He might perish at the hands of Forster's men because of the whims of this traitor," he sneered glaring at Collins.

Bella grabbed Jacob's hand. "Jacob, _please_, could you not go? We must warn them." There was something in the tone of her voice, how it faltered, how its pitch rose that unnerved Jacob. There was someone out there Bella worried for that she had not revealed to him.

"I would," he said, gritting his teeth. "You know I would in a heartbeat. But father has asked me to stay…if he were to lose me, he has nothing left, Bella. He is…_alone_. I cannot do that to him..."

She understood... she truly did. She could feel the tears burning now in her eyes, desperation mixed with panic. "Please," she begged.

"I can ask a volunteer…"

"By the time you do that, it will be too late," she whispered.

"_If_ Collins is even right," her friend reassured her. "We do not know if —"

The young woman shook her head as she frowned. "I…I understand," she answered in a shaking voice, leaving the cell as quickly as she had entered it.

Jacob watched her cross the courtyard to her mother, his eyes plastered on her form as he kept pressing the handkerchief against his nose.

"I wonder which man rode out that has her worried like that," he mumbled to himself.

"The man who won her from me," Collins whispered. It was mostly to himself. He watched after Bella, knowing she would never come running to him like she had to Edward Masen.

Bella rushed to the open gates. The moment Jacob Black and his men left they would be bolted shut. She had not explained to her mother where she was headed, only that she needed to go. Renée, who loved her daughter dearly, understood not to pry. In a way, without knowing, she had given Bella her blessing to leave.

The people inside the garrison watched in silence as Isabella Swan rushed out and into the danger outside of town.

* * *

Joe watched the sun as it rose higher over the horizon. Suddenly he saw Isabella Swan, galloping on her white mare from the center of Hayes.

"Wha' on earth?" he muttered as he tediously walked down from the top of the wall. Billy Black followed his gaze and saw her as well.

"What are ya doin' here, Miss Swan?" Joe asked as she got down from the horse in a quick, jerky movement.

"It's a trap. We need to warn them, get them away from the tree line before they are overrun!"

"Trap?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Joe, Forster is coming from within Raven's Grove. Collins said so, and I am inclined to believe him —"

At the mere mention of Collins' name, Joe's eyes darkened. "Collins said?" He placed his hands on Bella's shoulders and struggled to calm her. "Listen, Cullen knows what he's doin'—"

"Joe, will you _listen_ to me? I _know_ Collins is telling the truth. I have a feeling about this. It makes sense that Forster should come from the north if we all supposed it not to be so. We cannot take him for granted," she growled, having lost her patience with her friend. "You must send someone out there to warn them!"

"Send someone out there, miss, are ya mad?" Joe asked. "Our scouts 'ave spotted movement on the horizon; Forster's 'bout to arrive. Whoever we send out there will be shut out with the rest of the cavalry. Already fifty men have ridden out, I can't ask yet another volunteer fer a futile matter!"

Bella quickly withdrew from him. "Do…do you not trust me?" Her eyes widened with a look of betrayal.

"I am tasked with the men within these walls, Cullen placed tha' burden on me, on Jacob Black and his father. It isn't that I do not trust ya, but I'll not be sendin' anyone else out there, not with such short notice."

She could ask him to go, but Bella understood. She nodded stiffly, but Joe saw that he had not managed to convince her.

Joe reached out to her. "Miss Swan, I…ya shouldn't worry, all will be well," he tried. Most of her family was within Hayes, safely protected by her walls, so why did she look so worried?

Bella turned back to April and swiftly seated her again.

"Where are ya goin'?" Joe asked.

"To Lucy's!" Bella shouted as she urged her horse into a gallop. Joe breathed out, glad that she hadn't decided to do anything stupid. But then again, he knew Bella better than that. In any other situation, he would most likely have followed her.

April darted past The Laughing Goose on the eerily empty streets. This time of day usually saw Hayes come alive as its people woke up and spilled out into the streets. Now the town lay silent, anticipating the attack. The only sound was the chirping of birds and the galloping hooves of Bella's slender mare. She kept riding toward the northern gate, a look of determination plastered on her face.

The moment she reached the gate Bella pulled her horse to an abrupt stop. "Who goes there?" a puzzled Jonah asked as he peered over the ledge. She saw some muskets aimed at her, then quickly removed when they realized who it was.

"Isabella Swan, I ask you to open the gates for me!" she said, holding her breath and hoping her trick would work.

Jonah grimaced at her and wondered if she had gone crazy. "Open the gates?"

"Aye, I am to deliver news to Cullen, with permission from both Jacob and Billy Black," she lied. She could feel her throat blossom into a fluster that quickly spread to her cheeks. Bella was thankful that it was still too dark to see her blushing features or Jonah would know she was lying.

"But…_you_?"

"Yes, me, a woman, Isabella Swan," she answered flatly. "April is one of the quickest horses in the area, I know the terrain well and will know where to find Cullen and his men—"

"But Forster is about to attack!" another man said, peering down at her disapprovingly. "How can we let a young lady of your caliber simply ride out into what is certain to be a bloody battle?"

"If I do not get this information to them, gentlemen, Cullen and anyone who is with him will surely perish. They have been set up for an ambush, Forster is coming from within Raven's Grove. The men the scouts have seen are a diversion," she argued. Before they could argue, Bella defiantly spoke out again, lowering her voice and tried to put some authority behind it. "You will open the gates now, gentlemen!"

Such was the force and authority in her voice that the man next to Jonah ordered the guards to pull the gates open without questioning her. Before anyone else could react, Bella spurred April into a full gallop. They watched dumbfounded as the woman in the white dress darted for the tree line and was soon swallowed up by the eerie darkness of the Grove.

Jonah squinted his eyes once he realized what had happened. He turned to a fellow guard. "Send someone to Jacob Black immediately. Something tells me she did _not_ have his approval," he swallowed. If that was the case, Jonah wondered if he would survive the wrath of Jacob Black.

* * *

April's hooves tore up the ground as they rushed through the countryside. The dirt kicked up and splattered faintly over Bella's features. But she didn't care. The sun was now spilling over the horizon. Golden rays which slowly broke through the waning fog would illuminate the fight. The brisk air made her skin break out with gooseflesh. She would have been cold, if not for the vast amount of adrenaline rushing through her body.

Bella had only one sight in mind, only one goal — to get to the man she loved and remove him from harm's way. His fight with Collins had not only drained him, it had once again reopened his wound. She understood why he had to fight but if she could find an excuse to remove him from immediate danger, she would. Bella clenched her teeth together as she dug her heels into April's sides, sending the mare into an even faster gallop. The young woman leaned forward in the saddle and gripped the white mane of her mare.

"Faster April, faster!" she urged desperately.

It was almost as if the horse understood the urgency, for despite her already extraordinary speed, April drove more force into her four legs and galloped so quickly that Bella thought she would almost fall out of the saddle. Her eyes remained on the darkness of the woods, knowing whom it housed. She would get there in time—she had to. Not once had she stopped to think of her own safety, of her own predicament.

Once she crossed into the confinements of the Grove—the thick crowns of the trees still rendering the interior of the woods in shrouded darkness—a sense of ease washed over her. If anything, Raven's Grove was her domain. She knew it inside and out. Bella pulled on the reins, forcing April into an abrupt stop. Golden morning beams faintly filtered through some areas of the woods, spilling down softly, the light bouncing off the dew which covered the moss-covered ground. The green canopy shifted as a breeze pushed its way through. Somewhere an owl hooted within the depths of the Grove. Bella stilled and listened.

She closed her eyes and stilled her heart, letting her mind take over. Think, she told herself. Where would Edward have thought to hide with his men? _Where_ was the most strategic place?

Suddenly, her eyes opened widely as she couldn't help as a smile tugged at her lips. She turned April and promptly galloped further up east along the tree line, knowing where Edward would try to intercept Forster and his men.

* * *

Carlisle and his sons-in-law sat silently with their horses, looking out over the meadow as it swayed gently in the early morning light. It was a beauty to behold, despite the danger that awaited them. The rolling green hills of Cadherra, with the open horizon on one end and the Durun Mountains on the other, were a breathtaking backdrop for their battle. The sun had barely been up thirty minutes, the pinkish colors slowly shifting to a golden sheen that was only visible during dawn or dusk.

The scouts had not sent further word of Forster's men and Carlisle noted that his son was starting to tighten his jaw—never a good sign.

He rode up to the masked man, trying—for a split second—to ignore the intimidating figure he cut and instead speak to the man who hid beneath the mask.

"Something is wrong," Carlisle muttered slowly to Edward.

The emerald eyes watched the vast expanse of the open meadow intensely, squinting at the edges, lips pressing together and nostrils flaring.

"Aye," he rumbled back. "Forster and his men should have arrived by now." He turned to look at his father, a fleeting moment passing between the two. Edward's eyes darted about. "I think we must leave," he murmured.

He was about to call the men into action when, deep from the woods, some birds stirred suddenly, rattling the crowns and unsettling the horses. Edward, acting purely on instinct, spun his black stallion around and darted further in, promptly followed by his father. Those who had brought pistols lined up, ready to fire in case they were ambushed from the back.

Suddenly, a white apparition appeared from deep within the trees. The men stared in fear. Should they shoot? Was it only an animal? They cast nervous glances Cullen's way, but he was equally as dumbfounded. The golden droplets of sunlight cascaded over the form, giving it an otherworldly appearance in their eyes as it neared, a creature from another dimension.

She was utterly beautiful when she neared them, her white dress flying about her, her mare almost floating forward in a graceful gallop as she bore her rider to the tree line. She had faint mud stains dotting her cheeks. Her hair was loose, undone from the wild gallop and flying about her like a chestnut crown. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes alive.

Edward watched the woman he loved in silence as she neared them. Suddenly, he urged his horse forward to meet her before she was within earshot of the others.

What on _earth_ was she doing here?

As Cullen spoke privately with Swan, the rest of the group stared at the pair.

Carlisle even more so. He could not believe the sight he was seeing.

Both were the personifications of two legends of Angloa: Edward Cullen and Isabella Swan. Black and white, framed perfectly in a picturesque painting with Raven's Grove as the backdrop. The green canopy glowed with specks of golden sunlight here and there, one directly cascading over them, rendering the two almost ghostlike.

It was an eerie sight yet extraordinarily beautiful.

Edward and Bella, of course, had no idea of the picture they painted.

"What are you doing here?" her fiancé reprimanded with a growl. The way his voice shook revealed the fear he was feeling. She was out in the open, with an army of mercenaries riding their way. She was outside of the protective walls of Hayes.

"It's a trap, Edward, a trap!" Bella said frantically. "Forster is coming from the north, from within the Grove!"

Edward clenched his jaw — she even noticed it through the black leather mask. He cast a glance behind her.

"The mercenaries the scouts reported on seeing are most likely a diversion," she continued, waving her hands in the air. April stomped under her rider. "They are coming from the north, not from Coldwick!"

She was right—Forster and his men should already have arrived.

But in his eyes, she saw no hint of gratitude, only a searing fire as he redirected them back to her. "And _you_ rode out here to tell me that?" he spat.

"It was Collins' theory; Jacob did not believe it was enough to send a man out to a possible death!"

"Aye but you thought your life wasn't of any importance?" he growled. "It was stupid of you to come here, Bella."

"Stupid?" she growled back. "You may not think it stupid when my action may well save your lives. You may argue with me all you want _after_ we all get away from here. Forster lurks within these trees; he could strike at any moment!"

He hated that she was right. She always tried to outsmart him. With a growl he turned his stallion, hoping she would simply come riding after him. She did, yet he could feel her eyes glaring at him.

The rest of the group watched as they neared. "We must leave now," Cullen commanded. "Forster has tricked us." He looked at his father. "I will take twenty men and leave for the south of Hayes, hopefully that will draw Forster to us. Lord Masen, I ask you to take five men and safeguard Miss Swan in St. Nicholas. You might also find the bell tower beneficial for snipers. Take some of the more seasoned musket-men with you. Mr. McCarty, Mr. Hale, you divide the rest amongst you and ride to the east and west of the town. If we can corner Forster's men between us and the walls, we may have a chance after all," Cullen said through gritted teeth.

Carlisle promptly nodded, agreeing with his son's orders. "Miss Swan, if you would please follow us," he said once the five shooters had joined him. Bella stared at him with a look of resignation, her eyes discreetly fleeting to Edward. Her lips thinned and she approached Carlisle.

She didn't get to say goodbye to her lover. The whole ride to the church, she swallowed her sorrows, gripping the reins tighter, hoping it would all be over soon.

St. Nicholas stood washed in the golden rays of morning and all quickly got off their horses. One of the men took them to the back to hide them. They all rushed inside, bolting the heavy wooden doors behind them. Bella watched together with Carlisle for a moment as the rest of the men secured the doors.

"Lord Masen," he heard the soft female voice say next to him. "I am more than protected here. You should go with him."

Carlisle's eyes quickly jumped to her, to the disheveled woman next to him. "He tasked me with protecting you."

"Do you really believe I need it, sir?" she asked as she raised an eyebrow. "Look around you, I've five men here, we are surrounded by walls, by a bolted door. I will be up in the bell tower with the rest of them. Forster's men will be distracted. You must go to Edw— to Cullen for I know it is what you wish."

Carlisle was torn and knew Edward would never forgive him should anything happen to Bella. "I cannot Miss Swan. However much I am inclined to accept your offer, your safety far outweighs fighting alongside…Cullen. I am staying here."

They quickly climbed up the dark and small space of the stairwell, taking them into the bell tower. Two men were posted as guards, hidden in the darkened shadows of the church. Bella could see the entire meadow stretching out beyond Hayes, bathed now in the rapidly rising sun. She beheld the town nestled off the edge of Raven's Grove.

Within the forest, she heard something.

Bella Swan gripped the pillar she was holding on to, squinting her eyes as she tried to make out the figures within the forest. Then she saw them, spilling out like ants from the woods, attracting attention as they aimed for Hayes. Her eyes widened as she saw the vast number of men following Forster. There was no sight of Edward anywhere.

At the helm of the threatening army was none other than Captain Forster himself.

* * *

The pounding and deafening sound of hooves floated through the meadow, accompanied by shots ricocheting from the muskets and pistols. It quickly caused white smoke to engulf the men. The townsmen atop the wall aimed as best as they could, following their orders. Many trembled as they squeezed the triggers, their hands shaking as they reloaded their pistols and muskets. The northern wall was bearing the brunt of the attack, with almost six hundred men shooting up, aiming to rid Hayes of her inexperienced protectors.

"We need to relocate to the north!" Jacob shouted to some of his men. "Or they will get a chance to climb over!"

Bella watched with wide eyes and heard the screams of agony as men fell from the walls. Forster was smart, sending waves of men out of the smoke toward the wall, firing atop horseback and then turning around before the more inexperienced men of Hayes had a chance to take them down. Then he repeated it again, and again.

"There are too many!" she said, flinching as she spotted a man falling from the wall.

Suddenly out of the forest, came a small group of riders charging at the rear.

Edward.

They followed the same tactic, aiming their pistols at Forster's men, taking down a few riders and then circling back. Some followed them, breaking away from the large group. Bella saw another of their riders, coming from the west of the town, using the same strategy. She then realized that, slowly, they were luring away people from the large group, hoping that it would ease the pressure on the wall.

"Can you not fire from here?" she turned around to ask.

"It's too far away." Carlisle was clenching his jaw as he watched with her.

The chaos that reigned down upon Hayes was like a scene out of Dante's Inferno. It was a stark contrast to the beauty of nature that surrounded them. Bella felt useless up in the bell tower, not able to help in any way.

Meanwhile, down in the field, Cullen's riders were following him back into the forest. They would have an easier time attacking Forster's men in the darkness of the trees. The scouts originally placed to warn them of Forster's arrival now instead served to alert them of how many followed the riders into the woods.

Edward turned his stallion around and aimed his pistol, waiting with his finger on the trigger like so many of his men behind him. The moment they caught movement, they fired, quickly dispersing from the chaos they had created.

The mercenaries who had followed Cullen into the forest watched those leading the charge fall. Nevertheless, they kept riding forth, hoping to outnumber them. But once they were further in, they found the forest completely empty.

"Where is he?" one of the ruffians gritted, his voice higher than usual in pitch.

They heard a chuckle from within the trees and turned. "Show yourself, cowards!" one of them cried out with wide eyes and a furrowed brow.

Suddenly, a black stallion rushed to them, but it seated no rider. They stared as a pack of horses without riders came and rode past them.

"Where are they?" they whispered. Quickly, some of them ran from the group thinking that the riders they had followed were not inhabitants from Hayes, but the ghosts of Cullen and his men.

"Come back you cowards!" their leader shouted after them.

A low and reverberating chuckle sounded above him, and he quickly looked up only to be met by a large shadow as it quickly descended upon him. The leader made a loud soul-wrenching scream as a knife plunged into his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he noted more men jumping down from the trees, quickly taking out his followers.

* * *

Forster rode together with some of his men, trying his best to control the battle. They needed only one group over the wall who might open the doors for them. Once they got inside the walls, Hayes was theirs. Forster was certain. Of course, he had a trick up his sleeve just in case.

"Sir," a man shouted riding up to meet him.

"What news, Albert?" Forster asked as he watched yet another charge at the wall. They were close now. He was certain many men on the wall had been wounded by their expert shots.

"As you expected, Hayes did send out a group of riders," Albert said. "But they were not hiding where you thought they would be," he continued. "They seem to be…_luring_ some of our men into the woods…I have not seen any of the groups return."

Forster felt a shiver creeping up his spine. "That is what Cullen wants. We cannot play into his game or he will have an advantage."

"But sir, we cannot simply let our men continue this!"

"No, we cannot. Tell the men to stop following them. Cullen will not charge the entire army. We are almost six hundred strong, at least twice that of the able-bodied men of that town. They do not have enough riders to take us on. Have the men all focus on the wall and have Westley take charge of the other two platoons."

"Aye, sir!" Albert nodded and then quickly rode back.

"Albert!" Forster shouted.

"Sir?"

"If they see a man in a black mask, have them spare his life. That man is _mine_!"

"Aye…"

They kept pushing on the wall, sending men again and again in waves. Meanwhile, another group of Forster's men dug trenches in the near vicinity. Wilson had spared no expense for their protection and had even acquired a cannon. If they, by some chance, could not get the men over the wall they would blast a hole in it.

Jacob ran along the northern expanse of the structure, ducking every so often when a bullet flew by. Thanks to their preparation, they were ready. Some men had already been rushed to Lucy's tavern. Those who had sustained minor injuries pushed through the pain and kept fighting. The men knew what would happen if the wall was breached.

Bella and Carlisle could do nothing but watch with the others in the bell tower as the morning progressed. She sat down next to her soon-to-be father-in-law.

Carlisle took in the countryside of Cadherra, trying for a moment to ignore the conflict there. "Did he…tell you?" he asked after a while, fiddling with his hands.

Bella looked behind them. The other men were close, but not close enough to hear them. Their silhouettes were outlined as they faced east toward the sun. She figured telling Carlisle now might at least take his mind off of worrying about Edward. It might do the same for her.

Bella pushed her chestnut curls away from her face. "No," she admitted. "I think he feared my reaction as much as he feared yours."

"Then…how did you find out?"

He saw a smile creep onto her lips as a memory swept through her mind. Her eyes darted up, watching the ridges of the mountain and staring at the white castle of Adelton Hall in the distance.

"I suspected that Lucas Ridge had not killed himself and I pursued that belief. Eventually, it brought us together." She frowned. "At first, I did not know it was him. In fact, I wouldn't even imagine placing the two together. But, eventually, as I spent time with him as both himself and…you know…his other self, I started noticing things. There were moments—when he would take me on promenades in the forest by the stream—where his walls would come down and I could _see_ him." She blushed as she looked at Carlisle.

He recognized that look in her eyes very well. His heart warmed at knowing how loved his son truly was.

"The night he was shot I was the one who found him," she whispered as her eyes flickered. The wind swept past them, making the trees lightly rustle. The chirping morning birds together with the sigh of the woods served to block out the sound of battle, even if only for a moment. Something overcame Bella Swan, something akin to regret at having remembered such an instance. She was caught up in her own memory. "I found him there in a pool of his own blood, holding his side. I thought I would lose him that night."

Carlisle knew Edward had been shot, he had realized it later. But never did he believe that Edward's life was in danger. The notion that he could have lost his son sent such a painful jolt through the father's chest that he groaned.

"I stayed with him in Lucy's tavern the entire night when he realized I had unveiled his secret. It was hard to leave his side, so I didn't. I sat with him until the first rays of morning broke through the window. I helped him to his coach."

She glanced at Carlisle.

"Both Edward and I lied about the night at The Laughing Goose, Lord Masen. But it was not for the reason you believed it to be."

The tall and handsome baron took her hands in his. Like his father before him, Carlisle was not one to show many emotions. But, even now, he needed to express the gratitude he felt for Isabella Swan's presence in his son's life. "Thank you for…being there for him, Isabella," he smiled. "When I could not…when I made it more difficult for him."

Bella squeezed his hands in a show of solidarity. "I think he knows how proud you are of him…of everything he has done. He understands that what he did put a strain on your relationship."

They talked some more, mainly about Edward but also of other things. Carlisle tried to distract her from the cries of battle, the clash of swords and shots ringing down in the valley. Slowly, he noticed how her eyes fleeted to look behind him and widen at what she saw.

"Miss Swan?" he asked, now having foregone the familiarity that had been present before.

"They have a cannon!" she whispered with a look of dread emerging on her face.

Carlisle turned around, noting that most of the other men had their eyes glued to the battle. No one, however, had kept watch on the edge of the forest. But, there, he saw it too. A cannon had been stashed at the edge of the woods, close to the church.

They alerted the men and all now watched as they realized what Forster was planning. "They could blow a hole in the wall with that thing!" one of the men cried.

"It won't matter how many of their men we take out if they use it," Bella agreed. She glanced at Carlisle. "We need to alert them — it needs to be destroyed!"

"I cannot leave you here."

Bella Swan shook her head violently. "You must go, Carlisle!" she pleaded. "Please, or they will enter Hayes!"

There, standing at what seemed to be the roof of Cadherra, they looked over their beloved valley with the golden sun ever higher, the screams of battle in the distance and the smoke of gunfire drifting by below like a mist of war. Carlisle growled as he took a few men with him and quickly descended the tower. Bella was left with one guard, both watching as the group quickly mounted their horses and headed for the town's foothills.

Her eyes darted to the fields of emerald, trying in vain to see a man in black seated upon a black stallion. She saw nothing but smoke and figures moving within. The wind had picked up speed. Slowly its force tore at her clothes and tresses.

"Miss, we should get down lest the wind continues in such a fashion," her keeper urged, gripping the iron of the musket in his left hand and reaching for Isabella with his right.

Her eyes regarded his outstretched hand, his friendly gesture. "I must see the battle," she murmured. "I must know what happens."

"Miss," the man said again. Aye, he realized that the wind had picked up speed, aye it might be dangerous to stay in the bell tower. But the pain and worry in her eyes would do her more harm than some currents of air ever could. The man, not many years older than Bella, had a wife and he knew she had to be going through the same feelings as the young woman before him. "The church will offer protection enough," he encouraged with a warm smile. "And when it is over, they will come and get us."

He did not explain who _they_ were, he didn't have to.

Bella could feel the frantic beats of her heart, like those of a frightened bird trapped in a cage. She reached out and took the young man's hand.

"Let us leave," she agreed solemnly, casting a final glance at the ensuing battle down below. She hoped Edward was there, knowing of her worry for him. The battle had started so quickly; she hadn't even gotten to wish him luck or say her goodbyes…or to tell him she…loved him. She had wished to tell him those words for quite some time, wondering at his reaction as she professed her love to him. She remembered the way his eyes would crease at the edges, the slight twitch in his lips as he fought hard not to smirk. His chuckle rumbled within the depths of her memory and soothed her moment of hesitation.

* * *

For almost two hours Cullen and his cavalry had been trying to lure Forster's men into the northeastern part of the forest. There it would be easier to overcome them. However, it seemed Forster had caught wind of their approach and a different strategy was now needed. He regrouped his men. They had only lost one man so far — he had been wounded in his arm. He had ridden to the church where he now would be safe and in the care of Isabella Swan.

Jasper and Emmett soon regrouped with Cullen within the trees. Hiding from Forster's searching soldiers, they tried to figure out another way to take Forster and his army down. They were far outmanned and the men atop the wall wouldn't hold much longer. They were getting tired and there would come a time soon when Forster's men would breach the wall and open the gates from inside.

"We have barely begun," Emmett McCarty hissed under his breath. His group had lost one soul who had taken a bullet to the head. He was in his late forties and would be missed by a wife and a daughter. He had fallen dead instantly. Meanwhile, no one in Jasper's group had gotten as much as a scratch.

"We need another strategy," Cullen agreed as he peered past the tree line, watching the ensuing battle. "They know what we are doing."

"They are too many," another man claimed frantically.

Cullen sighed, the tip of his drawn sword embedding itself into the moss-covered ground. He bit back a grunt of discomfort. The wound in his side bothered him. He needed a moment to recover, but he knew he did not have one. "Do you wish to give up?" he asked without looking at the man.

"No, but…"

"We cannot afford to even consider defeat." Shrouded eyes darted up to look at the ensemble of men. "We keep pushing and we keep fighting them. We are the first line of offense, the only men fighting on the battlefield because we are the most capable," he continued, stirring something deep in their souls. Their fighting spirit slowly returned; he could see it in the way their eyes glittered. Despite the soot and muck covering their faces, the men now had a glow about them, forgetting the discomfort, the smell of blood, of fear and death.

"What do you suggest?" a younger man asked.

Edward's lips thinned as he cast a quick glance at Emmett and Jasper. Truth be told, he wasn't certain what could be done. Forster had commanded his troops well, dividing them into different platoons, attacking in waves to tire out the men atop the walls. The people of Hayes were not lucky in reducing Forster's numbers; they had barely made a dent. It wasn't that they weren't good shots, the smoke from the gunpowder had prevented them from seeing clearly.

Suddenly, they all stilled as they heard movement within the forest. While they were at one of the rendezvous points Cullen had identified, Forster's men would occasionally pass by in attempts to find a stray rider.

They all kept quiet as they listened. They heard the careful gait of some horses and a whistle that was familiar to Edward. He straightened up and saw his father and rode to him. Carlisle Masen had a jittery aura about him.

"Miss Swan is in complete safety, I did not leave her alone," Carlisle assured his son under his breath. "They have a cannon," he continued. "That is why I am here."

"A cannon?" Jasper exclaimed. "Why haven't they used it yet?"

The murmur rose as the men processed the new information. "They could blast a hole. The wall won't hold — not with a cannon!" someone muttered to his friends.

Frantically, many realized Hayes was done for. Forster was tiring the men atop the walls so that his troops might get close enough with the cannon and blast a hole in the façade. Forster would most likely target the walls on the northwestern side where his forces had attacked the hardest.

Edward didn't show it, but he too felt icy tendrils of fear claim his heart as he imagined what the mercenaries might do to his family.

He stilled his breath and tried to think his way through it. Acting emotionally would solve nothing. Yet, the image of Alice, Rosalie, and his mother kept popping into his mind, as well as the faces of others in town.

Just then, when he thought he would not be able to come up with a solution, it flickered into his mind as if it had been the most obvious strategy all along. His eyes flashed when the realization hit him, and his body tensed only to relax.

He had the answer.

"_We_ need to set the trap now," he said in his low and growling voice. Yet, the men kept babbling among themselves, paying him little heed.

Cullen stood up fully, watching his men in silent contemplation until they stilled and once more turned to him.

"We must make Forster think he has taken down the defense and managed to open the gates."

"You _want_ him to enter Hayes?" someone asked, completely offended at the idea.

"If we can get back into Hayes and prepare the town for the breach, we might be able to ensnare them. The streets are narrow and there are too many men to keep their group together. We can separate them within the town."

How had he not thought of this before?

"What of our families?" Jasper asked, thinking of his wife, of the danger in which they might be placing her and everyone else in Hayes.

Cullen's dark eyes rested on him, no longer those belonging to his brother-in-law. "They are safe within the walls of the garrison. Listen, we tried to take them on the field as well as we could. If we can get them inside Hayes on our terms, we might stand a chance against them," Cullen continued. "This would afford us a much better chance than if Forster were to blast a hole in the wall. With the portcullis we might still shut some of them out."

"How would we even get inside? Forster is attacking all the four main entrances."

A sudden smirk appeared on Cullen's lips. Aye, but he knew of one person who kept sneaking in and out of Hayes to ride into Raven's Grove undetected. She must be using ways other than the main entrances.

"I think I know someone," Cullen's eyes flashed.

* * *

**N/A: Thank you for the reviews of the previous chapters! Also, I thank you for your patience, we are nearing the end so you won't have to deal with my cliffhangers for too much (at least for this story ;))**

**Special thanks to my beta Moonwinks again for making this chapter readable. She has really taken a bunch of workload off my shoulders!**

**I hope you liked this chapter! (It's extra long :D)**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	34. Chapter 34

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 34_

She stood before the altar in St. Nicholas watching the carved figure of Mother Mary. The doors had been bolted, the chaos outside ever growing. Blank eyes tried to find some solace in the crying wooden eyes that stared down at her.

Suddenly, a boom broke through the desolate silence of the church. The morning light flooded inside, almost blinding her as she saw the outline of a figure. Bella Swan turned fully, her cheeks flushed, chocolate brown eyes wide and her mouth open in surprise.

She was met by Edward Cullen, walking in, stopping a few paces from her.

"We are leaving," he said in a brusque voice.

Slowly but surely a warmth extended within her at the sight of him. More men rushed in behind him. However, through the gunshots, the shrieks in the distance, his emerald greens still latched onto hers and captivated her. Edward made his way to her slowly, his steps echoing in the tall structure of the building. Somewhere, a dove flapped its wings. The beams of the sun filtered through the tall windows, illuminating her, specks of stirred dust floating in a slow dance about her.

"Miss Swan," he murmured to her as he came to stand tall before her. She looked as if wishing to reach out to him, hold him, burrow her face in his chest and whisper sweet words into his ear.

"A change of plans is it, Mr. Cullen?" she whispered.

His lips tugged at the corner. "I hear you know a way we might get inside the walls of Hayes without resorting to opening the gates."

Her brow furrowed. "What is your plan?"

He took her hand in his and turned to join his men. The longer they stayed, the more dangerous it would become. "The cannon is too guarded. We must force Forster's hand and lure him to us."

Slowly, she extracted her hand from his grip as she realized where he was headed. "You mean to open the gates and let them in?" An insulted twinge rang through the great hall of the church. The men watched in silence as young Miss Swan argued with Cullen. Jasper, who had walked in with Edward, understood the flaw she found in their plan.

"If we try to sabotage the cannon and fail, we will not get a second chance."

Bella backed away from him. "What about everyone inside?" Her frown grew. "What about them?" Her voice started breaking as she thought of her friends, her family. "And what of those who stay behind to destroy the cannon — _if_ they can even manage to do that?"

He stood before her like a specter from the past. Strangely, she could no longer sense Masen within him, only Cullen. The darkness emerging from his eyes unsettled her. He was determined.

"You must trust in me, Bella," he said firmly.

She glanced behind him, at the men who would follow him. "You would allow him to do this?" she asked.

"Either we open the gates and control how many of Forster's men enter, or we allow them to blow a hole in the wall, killing many more in the process," Jasper argued back. "We need to distract them to get to the cannons, I see no other way. But I understand your sentiment... I do not like it either, Miss Swan," he sighed.

"We need yer help, miss," another man stepped forward. She recognized him as the butcher's son. More nodded, joining in.

"We trust in 'im," another said. "We were nothin' before. We've a voice now, miss. A chance to stand up for ourselves. It started with Audeamus, let it end with it as well, if it has to."

She closed her eyes as a painful expression spread across her features. Then, her eyes opened, and a fire seemingly burned them all. "I bloody hope you all know what you're doing!" she spat as she picked up her skirts and walked past Edward. "Bloody maniacs, you are," she muttered under her breath. It did manage to raise more than a few eyebrows. Had Lucy been there, she would have been proud.

Bella stood in the opening, trying in vain to shut out the deafening shots sounding left and right. "I know a way we may all enter into Hayes. But we need to get close to the wall in order for that to happen. We will also have to go one by one if we are to lead our horses through."

Cullen extended his arms wide in a showing gesture as his lips tugged into the cocky yet brilliant grin she had come to love. "Lead the way, Miss Swan," he winked.

She rushed out into the blinding light of day. In the distance, she noted the smoke from the gunpowder as the weapons were fired. Carlisle was holding an awaiting April for her.

"We need to make haste! Forster has sent a platoon to search the tree line. They will spot us eventually," he urged as Bella hurried into the saddle.

Edward sprung into the saddle of his black stallion, the beast trampled nervously under him as he held the reins with one hand. "Which way, Miss Swan?" he asked.

"East!"

"Obadiah, Jeremy, Oscar!" Cullen shouted. In a matter of seconds, three horsemen darted to the front, seating their horses confidently, armed to the teeth. Blood splatter stained their skin and clothes; mud together with the residue of gunpowder stained their hands and features.

"Aye?" one of them asked.

"Ride ahead, make sure the road is clear," Cullen commanded. "I shall be right behind you."

"Aye, sir!" They sprang into a gallop. Bella stared at the horizon, gulping as she wondered what awaited beyond the rolling hills, the grand wall of Hayes and the sound of war.

He rode up next to her. She heard his horse settle next to April. Edward looked right ahead. "I will never let anything happen to you, Bella."

Edward Cullen turned to look at her, ignoring if he lacked any sort of propriety. He cared little for keeping up pretenses in such a moment. As did she. She gripped the reins tightly, stilling her fears.

"I know," she whispered as the winds tore at her loose tresses.

The clear heavens beckoned, and Bella urged April into a gallop, heading straight for the action, gripping tightly on and leaning forward. Her love rode right by her side and she was flanked by Carlisle and Emmett. The rest of the men followed suit as she set her eyes on the eastern part of the wall, hoping they would not be seen by any of Forster's men. They were, after all, pressing on the northern part of the wall. St. Nicholas was to the east of Hayes; they should be safe.

The powerful legs of her mare stretched underneath her, almost floating on the swaying grass as the tall, gray stone walls rose from the ground. Her town, her home. Her fingers entwined into April's mane and Bella inhaled the scent of the early morning, of metallic gunpowder, of mud, and her horse. She squared her jaw as they were met by the three scouts, declaring the road ahead free from danger. Bella Swan steered her mare further toward the wall, looking for a small break.

There was a small archway that was supposed to have a steel grating, allowing for a stream of water to escape through the wall. It was well hidden by twisting ivy vines and other branches. Bella was certain Forster had never known of it. She was sure few from Hayes had ever even thought to look where the stream led, unaware of the unprotected part of the wall. If Forster was not here now, he could not possibly know about it.

During her younger years, Bella had found that the grate over the hole in the wall was rusting and could easily be pried away when the flow of the stream subsided. They would have to get into the water, push against the grate and get the horse through, one by one. But it could be achieved. Alas, they were almost fifty men and she feared that Forster's men might happen upon them sooner rather than later.

They stopped by the stream and waited on her command. She was most familiar with the grating; thus she would approach it first. Bella rushed to the opening and steeled herself as the cool water touched her skin and she sank down to her waist. The young woman waded slowly through the water, prying away the vines which did well in hiding the entrance. Her white dress bunched up around her waist as she kept moving forward with April in tow. Bella felt around the edges of the grating. The rust was still there, but she had trouble pushing it aside, the water of the stream strong on this particular day. She let go of the reins and tried putting her entire weight on it. A rising panic now gripped her. If they couldn't get through here, there was no other way inside.

A black glove came to rest on her hand. She stifled a startled shriek and was met by two green eyes. "Together," Edward encouraged, nodding her way. She nodded back. Both now pushed as hard as they could, and she felt the rusty steel give way. Soon, they heard someone else join them in the water.

Emmett had rolled up his sleeves. "Amateurs," he quipped with a grin. He gripped the bars and pushed against the stream, the muscles in his arms working as hard as they could. Bella pushed, as did Edward. The three of them slowly but surely pried the grate open. Bella gestured in triumph and quickly ventured through with April following behind. While Edward and Emmett held the grate open, Jasper and Carlisle helped the men enter one by one. When twenty-two of them had gotten through, Emmett slipped, losing his grip on the bars and falling. Edward couldn't hold the grate open by himself and it slammed shut under its own weight and the pressure of the water.

She watched in horror as they all tried to push the grate open once more, but it seemed the iron had now embedded itself securely into the stone from the force of the blow.

"It's no use!" Jasper exclaimed. "Miss Swan, is there another way?" The kind eyes of Jasper looked at her in desperation as he realized the answer.

Bella grew pale. "You must try again!" she pleaded to the men.

They watched her and more jumped into the cold water to help. While they pulled on Bella's side, they pushed on Edward's.

Yet, the grating held firmly in place, even with ten men trying with all their might to force it open. They could not fit more of the men through the small opening.

Bella saw Edward in the water, gripping the bars, his emerald greens seeking her. Carlisle jumped into the stream, rushing to his son.

"You could try to climb over, or hide in the forest—"

"I will not leave thirty men here to fend for themselves," he whispered to his father. "I leave the rest of the plan in your hands."

Carlisle tried again with all his might to force the grid open, his eyes filling with unshed tears. They heard someone else jump into the water as Bella waded to them. She gripped the cold and unforgiving steel.

Carlisle shook his head as if unwilling to accept that Edward could not come with them. "Were you even planning to join us?" he asked. He received no answer, only the steely eyes of the masked man.

"Someone has to dismantle that cannon," Edward finally whispered.

"It's dangerous!" Carlisle growled back, trying desperately to control himself.

Knowing eyes stared back as a sigh escaped Edward. "It always has been…father."

Bella's lips trembled but unlike Carlisle she did not argue with him. Fate or his own choice — Edward was on the other side and there was nothing they could do now to change that. Even if he had been able to step through with them, she suspected he would have remained beyond the wall.

Edward's gloved hand found hers, enclosing her smaller hand in his. "Be safe," she begged, her eyes blank as she fervently tried not to let the tears fall.

His other hand snaked through the grate and pulled her in. Slightly obscured by the vines and ivy which cascaded over the opening, they would not be seen, if the couple had cared.

Through the bars, Edward's lips met Bella's as he kissed her. Tears now streamed down her cheeks as her other hand came up to caress his face. She held onto him for as long as she dared, his thumb caressing the back of her hand.

Edward was shaking, not even the mask could hide it. He turned to his father, who had taken a step back to allow them some space. Carlisle couldn't help as his mouth fell slightly at the display before him.

"Take care that she doesn't go and do anything foolish," he urged. Then he turned to Bella. "Like riding out into a battlefield with almost six hundred mercenaries."

"You must place yourselves in safety in Raven's Grove," Carlisle ordered. "You _must_," he growled.

Edward steeled himself, releasing his hold on the grating. "We continue the fight. We must try to take down the cannon. Otherwise, they might still be able to blast a hole through the wall."

* * *

Jacob felt as if he was standing before the gates of hell. Below him floated the smoke from the gunpowder and further below sounded men's screams and cries of horses. Jacob kept shouting orders, ducking and running, trying to keep it together. Jonah held the furthermost part of the northern wall. Joe was in charge of helping the wounded down on the ground.

It was no common battle. This was _war_ — a war for their freedom, a war for their rights. The men who fought for Hayes had wills of iron and knew what might be lost if the gates were breached.

"Black!" he heard through the noise.

He turned around, sweat mingling with the smudge on his face, his brow furrowed, and a look of anger on full display

Jonah ran up, eyes wide, sparking with something untold. "Carlisle Masen and Bella Swan request your presence at Lucy's tavern!"

Bella.

Hours earlier, Jonah had ridden to him and spoken of Bella leaving the protection of the walls. Jacob thought she was lost to them. He had wanted to ride after her but could not leave his post when he saw Forster's riders drawing near.

He embraced Jonah as he burst out into a joyful smile. "She is alive?" he blurted, tears threatening to fall.

"Aye, sir! You're needed there now. She demands your presence!"

"Silly girl," Jacob snickered. "I ought to have her locked up in the garrison after this."

Jonah pushed Jacob to the side as the whoosh of a bullet passed them. Yet, Jacob couldn't stop from smiling. He had thought her dead, he truly had!

He moved to stand and darted down the stairs. "I will return shortly, Jonah. You take charge now!"

He didn't look back as he ran through the muddied streets, passing the men who held their wounded limbs to them as they waited to be taken to The Laughing Goose. Time seemed to slow down as his tired legs carried him to the center of town. He could almost hear her laughter as he gritted his teeth.

The Laughing Goose was surrounded by wounded men nursing nasty blows, gunshot wounds or broken bones. The interior was a mess as Lucy Berg ran around, shouting in her booming voice, the dining tables used as makeshift operating tables for Dr. Blake and his assistants. In one corner stood Athar and Michael Newton, going over plans with Billy Black on where to deploy the next forces.

Jacob couldn't help but stare as the physician, together with the local surgeon, held down a young lad and sawed off his left leg below the knee. Jacob's mouth turned dry as he recognized the man as one of his own friends. However much he wanted to run to him, there was no time.

Friar Nathan was in another corner, helping the more fortunate with lesser injuries. Friar Blackwater walked around with a cross in his hand to those on the brink of death, prepared to give them their last rites should they pass.

Bella Swan was frantically helping a maid behind the counter, preparing cloths drenched in liquor to be used to clean the wounds. She had been lent a dirty apron with some questionable stains on it. Her cheeks flustered and despite the determination in her movements, something else seemed to occupy her mind. Carlisle was being looked at by another maid, with other cavalry awaiting examination.

When Bella caught sight of Jacob, she dropped what she was doing. It was as if her walls crumbled and she rushed up to her friend, casting aside all sense of propriety and embracing him tightly. The young woman had witnessed more horror in the past few hours than anyone else in her station would endure over a lifetime.

"Speak not, Jacob, reprimand me not. I have already received my punishment for leaving these walls," she stated in a shaking voice. "I know I shouldn't have left, but Collins was right!"

He looked past her, his eyes searching Carlisle's and the baron nodded. Jasper Hale rounded a corner, carrying more cloth, almost running into Lucy's large form.

"Ya watch it now, Mr. Hale. Can't be havin' any clumsy oafs in my establishment or I'll throw ya outside," she snapped as she rushed past him toward Blake to help with his patient. Lucy, it seemed, did not possess a weak stomach.

Jacob was shaking after having witnessed so many men perishing atop the wall. His countenance was pale, his limbs trembling and something was very amiss in his eyes.

"We need to speak to you alone, now," Jasper urged. "The four of us. The more time we spend here, the more likely that Forster breaks into Hayes."

Bella showed Jacob to the back of the tavern, to the only place she knew would be away from it all, the one place she knew had hidden and saved those she cared about; Lucy's bedroom.

Jasper shut the door firmly behind him as Carlisle settled down on the bed, grimacing as he hugged his side. He must have received a blow of some sorts or fallen during the battle.

Jasper was quick to forego pleasantries and jumped straight to the question at hand. He knew they were speaking on borrowed time. "Forster has a cannon; he has been sending his men to attack the wall in order to buy himself time. He guards that cannon heavily and we know it only means one thing — to blast a hole in the northern part of the wall."

"A cannon?" Jacob exclaimed. Suddenly, he grew nauseated and had to lean on the wall for support. "But…but how did you get inside?"

"There is a stream the miller uses, the one which turns his waterwheel. It has to escape somewhere. The grate at its opening in the wall is rusty and I have gone past there before. But as we were making our way inside, the power of the stream was too strong, and it pushed the grid closed."

"Where…is Cullen?"

"Jacob," Carlisle interceded before anyone answered him. "We must open the gates."

The mere notion was an insult to the young man. "Are you _completely mad_?"

"We must open the gate and allow Forster's men to enter on _our_ terms. Listen, we can divide his men and take care of the ones who are inside the town more easily. If we keep resisting atop the wall, he will blast a hole through it and enter anyway, killing many more in the process and diminishing our chances," Carlisle growled back.

"_Where_ is Cullen?" Jacob asked again. When he saw their haunted faces the darkness in his eyes grew.

"He was on the other side when the grid was forced shut," Bella whispered. "We couldn't open it."

It rested on Jacob's shoulders now. Cullen would have known what to do, he always did. Despite the role he had assumed, Jacob was not comfortable making such decisions.

"You are asking me to trust in you all blindly and allow hundreds of men entry into this town — surely killing many of us in the process!"

"Because Forster has a cannon, Jacob," Bella repeated.

Jacob watched her, confused, afraid — uncertain of how to proceed. Cullen would know, he always knew.

"How many would lose their lives if we do this?" he asked them. In the background, they could hear the sounds of pain as men were treated for their wounds. It reinforced the weight of his question.

Bella frowned, not knowing how to answer him.

"We are asking you, Jacob, because you are leading the defense on the wall. Athar and Mr. Black are not men of battle," Carlisle said. "They will not open the gates. I understand why you hesitate. Had I not seen the cannon, I would too," Carlisle stepped forth to say. "Men will die regardless of what we do. We cannot save them all. You already know that — so does Cullen — so do most of us."

Bella walked up to her friend, gripping his dirty hands in her's. Her white dress was wet and soiled, taking on a dark gray hue. Some mud had been wiped from her cheeks. Her bandaged hands were dirty as well. Across her chest he saw some faint stains of blood camouflaged amongst the red and blue embroidered flowers. Her hair was in disarray.

But she was determined. That she would have fearlessly ridden out to warn Cullen — on the mere whims of a disgraced major — was enough to earn his respect.

"We can do this," she said breathlessly. "_We_ can do this."

His black eyes peered down at her, on the woman he viewed as his little sister.

"Lord Masen," he murmured after a pregnant pause. His eyes darted up and locked with Carlisle's. "What is your plan?"

His words brought a wide grin to Bella's lips.

"We need to be prepared to rain down whatever we can on Forster's mercenaries and keep a steadfast grip on the entrance to the northern wall," Carlisle rushed.

"The portcullis," Jasper murmured. "They have not been in use for almost sixty years," he continued. "The chains holding them up are too rusty for daily usage. But we only need them down once. Let half of Forster's men ride in and then we saw through the chains, letting the iron gates do the rest. It will be easier to deal with half of their forces than their entire army."

Jacob nodded slowly. Once he came to terms with it, he realized it to be a good strategy. It would distract Forster and his men, giving Cullen and the others beyond the wall a chance to destroy the cannon.

"Then someone get the blacksmith while I inform the men on the northern wall," Jacob growled. "Lord Masen," he said. "I leave it to you to speak to my father about the town's defenses and their placements."

"Of course!"

"Bella," Jacob continued, now looking at her. "You must take shelter in the garrison." He hesitated again. "Athar and Newton should join you. If you, by some grace of God, survive this they are powerful enough to make the authorities in Wessport or Safeira see reason. They would be our last hope."

She nodded swiftly, not about to protest with his reasoning. Bella knew she had done enough for a lifetime.

And, with that brief conversation, Jacob darted to the front. Carlisle and Jasper started gathering the people in the tavern and Bella rushed with Michael and Willard to the garrison with April.

* * *

"We're almost ready to use the cannon," Westley, a gruff looking man with streaks of white running through his reddish hair shouted as he rode up to Forster. They watched their men attack the walls from a distance. For each passing hour, there were fewer and fewer men manning the wall.

The dark coals of Captain Forster's eyes burned with a fierce intensity. "When we get through, let the men loose," he growled as he gripped the reins. "If you find a pair of men who look similar with tan skin and black hair, do not harm them. They are _mine_. The same goes for the man called Jonah."

Westley had a rough scar cutting through his right eye and eyebrow. He stroked his unshaven chin as his lips curled into a satisfied smile. "I hear the ladies are fair in this town," he said in the same dark and coarse tone. "Ripe for the taking."

"Especially Isabella Swan," Forster said with a smirk. The name alone provoked a curious reaction in the other.

"…Swan?" he asked.

"You would find her pleasing," Forster continued. Maybe in the arms of Westley she would come down from her high horse Forster thought.

The man grinned further, the rough wrinkles in his face twitching. A primal lust now flared in his eyes.

"Look!" Forster suddenly shouted. The sun was high in the sky, the stark rays cutting through the gunpowder smoke, the heat slowly pressing down on them.

Both men, one a disgraced captain, the other the leader of the mercenaries, watched in delight as the wooden northern gates gave way and their men stormed in. It appeared to them that the cannon wouldn't be necessary anymore.

While their troops pushed through the entry, they were not paying attention to the rear of their army, too keen on getting into Hayes. The men tasked with guarding the cannon had started wheeling it out into the open. They were fifty men strong, armed to the teeth and not willing to let anyone lay their hands on their precious cannon.

Therefore, as a small horde of horsemen came from the woods, they were not prepared to be met with a head-on attack.

Meanwhile, the gates of Hayes were pushed wide-open, shouts and cries echoing through the valley as the mercenaries forced their way in. "Hayes is ours!" Forster growled triumphantly, urging his horse to go forth.

More and more mercenaries streamed in — until they didn't.

"Redirect yer arrows n' muskets!" Joe echoed. The shooters who had been aiming for the men on the other side of the wall now turned around and shot at the men still in the entrance.

"Close the portcullis!" Jonah shouted fiercely. "Now!"

The walls of Hayes were medieval in their construction — the walls thick and the gates old. But while they had not been used in a siege for centuries, they still worked. The arched doorway leading into the town, where newer doors swung open, also had a hidden portcullis. Forster had believed it removed decades ago. However, it was still there, and it was Jacob's hidden ace.

The iron chain to the sliding door had been sawed off by the blacksmith and it came down with striking force. The men who were beneath it got caught in a virtual guillotine, losing their lives from the impact of the heavy metal.

Yet, there was no time to celebrate. As Forster and Westley growled, circling back with their men to ready the cannon, Jacob, Joe and Jonah now had more than two hundred men to deal with within Hayes. Indeed, for the mercenaries would not simply lay down their arms. They would do all they could to make Hayes surrender and open the portcullis and let the rest inside.

Slowly but surely, the intruders were being herded by the men on the wall and snipers on the roofs into smaller cul-de-sacs where they could be more readily managed. The infantry cut their returns short as they dragged the mounted men from their horses and faced them with rusty shields, dated swords yet wills of iron. Some men only possessed their pitchforks, an axe or simply just good pieces of wood or steel.

Beyond the wall, hundreds of men doubled back for the cannon — their only option left to get inside Hayes.

When Forster saw the masked figure of Edward Cullen, he spurred his horse on, set on taking down the masked man once and for all.

Edward turned, breaking from the ensuing fight for control of the cannon. "They are coming for us!" Emmett exclaimed.

"Sir, we cannot face the lot of 'em!" one of his riders said.

Edward watched in defeat. If they'd had only a few more minutes they could have dragged the cannon back into the forest and sabotaged it. He stared as the wall of men neared them, with Forster leading the charge. However, if they left the cannon, the mercenaries _would_ enter Hayes by blasting a hole through the wall.

"We can leave the cannon and save ourselves!" he quickly shouted to them. "But then they will enter Hayes before they've gotten the chance to handle the first invaders." Edward paused, feeling sick for what he was about to suggest. "Or we face them and buy Hayes a few more minutes. We ward them off the best we can while we sabotage the cannon!"

Pale faces stared back at him and Edward knew their decision. They would stay because they knew what would happen otherwise. Two men jumped down from their horses and killed the remaining mercenaries who had been guarding the cannon. "Go!" they said as they set to work.

Edward's stallion reared as he quickly turned it around. Emmett rode up with him as they all formed a single line. Toward them approached the wall of bloodthirsty men. In a matter of minutes, they would collide.

"If I don't get the chance," Emmett said in a shaking voice, his brow furrowed as he revealed the worry he felt inside, "I never knew what you hid, I am sorry for what I thought about you — evident or not. You are a brave man, Edward. The bloody bravest man I've ever had the pleasure to meet...and…and call a brother." He turned to face him. "Albeit you're a bit mad I should think. But we need more of that in the world."

Edward squeezed the reins. "I feel the same way toward you, McCarty," Edward nodded stiffly. "But we cannot perish for you wished a rematch, and I shall give it to you."

Emmett let out a strangled chuckle despite himself.

They all readied their horses as Edward Cullen drew his sword. "For Hayes!" he roared.

"_Let us dare_!" the men roared next to him as they urged their horses into a frenzied gallop.

* * *

Bella ran around the interior of the garrison courtyard with the rest of them. Instead of sitting idly by and waiting for the gates to fall from all the pushing on the other side, they had decided to act.

She was soon in the watchtower of the garrison, overlooking Hayes, watching the conflict. There were still many mercenaries left standing within the walls. A few groups had surrendered. However, the largest one was outside of the garrison, trying to force its way in. If they could get to the women, children and older people, they might have a chance to force a surrender from Jacob and his father.

Yet, her eyes were suddenly drawn to beyond the wall. She stared in horror as two things happened.

A horde of mercenaries was riding for the small cavalry which had not been able to get into Hayes with her. Edward Cullen and his small group of brave townsmen were about to face off against more than three hundred men.

Secondly, the portcullis to the northern gate had for a moment been drawn open once again as some mercenaries shouted for Forster's group that they could enter.

She sank to her knees, losing all hope. It appeared it was over, Forster would win. Bella pressed her bandaged hands to her eyes, crying in silence so as not to alert anyone who had yet to notice what was about to happen.

Bella had not the heart to see the clash of Cullen's men and Forster's forces. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt the warmth of the sun kiss her weary forehead. She thought back to her time with her parents, to Edward's embrace — their kiss in St. Nicholas, the meetings in the Grove. She thought of Lucy, of Jacob, of Lorraine, Sara, Robert, Nathan, Blackwater, and Thompson. Her eyes opened, tears streaming down her face, cutting through the soot and mud covering her cheeks. She stared at the immense sky above her, calmed by its immensity for a second.

There was a moment of peace where not a sound broke through. It was only the soft summer breeze and her, as if nature had decided to nestle her in its calming bosom.

In an instant, she was snapped back to reality.

A loud boom rocked the valley, the explosion causing the entire town to rattle in its foundation. Her breath caught in her throat as she darted up to stare out at the open fields of Cadherra.

* * *

Forster growled in frustration. They had not been able to reach their cannon in time. For, as Edward Cullen's men had clashed with theirs — willing to sacrifice their very lives to buy time to destroy the cannon — two men had remained and made sure the cannon was destroyed.

Yet, as Forster and Edward tumbled from their horses, engaged in a brutal fistfight, Forster was alerted to another fact — the portcullis to Hayes was opened once again.

For an instance, in the thick of battle, entirely encircling the small force of Cullen's men — both leaders locked eyes. It was drawn out, as if time had slowed down. Both men caught their breaths under the stark sunlight. It was time for Forster to decide — take down Cullen or make a run for it to Hayes. Forster knew he wouldn't gain another chance should the portcullis falter.

"To Hayes!" he yelled as loudly as he could. His eyes saw red as he realized he wouldn't be able to battle with Cullen…_yet_. He had no firearm. Only a flimsy sword and a knife — there was no time to reload.

"We cannot let them enter!" Emmett screamed in despair. Blood intermingled with soot and mud as pearls of sweat cut through the grime on his face.

There was no question about it. As the mercenaries paid them no heed, Cullen's men chased them however they could, hoping to catch at least a few of them. Edward reached for the horde, growing sick with the thought of seeing that many men assaulting Hayes.

Meanwhile, the citizens of Hayes fought like rabid animals. They aimed whatever they had at their invaders, hoping to catch some of them. A large number of them were intercepted in the main square. Lucy's tavern — The Laughing Goose — which had previously served as a makeshift hospital, was now the main point of defense. The windows had been broken to allow for whatever firearms they had to fit through. The wounded — those who were strong enough to hold a pistol or musket and take aim — hunched by the windows and shot for dear life. There were people on the roof raining down arrows, some boys even used simple stones which they threw from slingshots.

Forster, who had made his way to the garrison, knew that the only way to take down Hayes was to get to the weakest of them and use them as leverage. He glanced at the shut gates of the garrison, a wicked smirk twisting his features as he realized what had to be behind the doors of his old home.

"Westley!" he shouted as both crouched down near the end of the vast square.

The burlier man sent him a stiff glance as he once more aimed his musket at a young lad atop the roof, hitting him in the shoulder and sending him tumbling down. "Wha'?" he growled.

"The garrison, we need to break into it!" Forster continued. "They've their women and children there, I am certain. If we take them, the others will lay down their weapons in surrender!"

Westley's eyes glittered dangerously. He looked about them. With them, in the square, were now about 150 men. "We can do it!" he said confidently. "I'll send a group with a small keg of gunpowder n' have 'em light it."

"I've always enjoyed a good explosion!" Forster laughed, already savoring the bloodbath. They were so close! After this, Hayes would be _his_ without any further pretenses. He would be free of Wilson to do as he pleased. Forster's eyes became deranged as he thought about what he could do to people like Jacob and Cullen.

From within The Laughing Goose, Little Lucy and Dr. Blake watched wide-eyed as a few of Forster's men crouched behind a makeshift shield of an old cart with some panels of wood hastily tied to the front of it.

When she spotted the keg one of them carried, she became enraged. "Stop 'em!" she screamed as loudly as she could.

Billy Black could not help as his blood froze once he realized what Lucy meant.

"They're going to blow it up!" he shouted, just as loudly. Billy had never been good with pistols or any other type of weapons. Yet, now even he searched desperately for a firearm to hold in his hands.

The townspeople aimed at the approaching wagon, yet even when a few men fell, it continued forth.

"We cannot let them succeed!" Lucy screamed. No one could not get a good shot as Forster made sure to cover his men.

Billy stared at them dumbfounded, realizing they would not be able to stop the wagon in time. Lucy watched in shock as well, but she knew she had to do something. The old woman, who had seen much in her life, had never been one for violence. But now, realizing that those she cared for were in grave danger, she cast it all aside.

The stout woman crawled to the back of her tavern to where she stored her liquor. Lucy took a bottle about three quarters full. "The devil will come fer ya now," she growled and couldn't help the satisfied smirk that formed on her face. She ripped a part of her skirt with her teeth, inserted the cloth into the bottle and then reached for a candle.

While bullets flew left and right — splinters of wood exploding into the air like bizarre fireworks — Lucy set to her task.

Some in the tavern, taking momentary cover while reloading their firearms, watched Lucy, astonished. The old and chubby woman — with a tongue as brazen as a sailor's and the manners of a common tavern wench — watched the wick burn and searched for her target. She saw Forster crouching with some of his men near the far end of the square. But it was still close enough for her.

"A present my husband left behind fer me, ya bloody bastards!" she shouted, extending her arm behind her and throwing the bottle at the group of mercenaries. She ignored her own safety, not wishing to miss her target.

Then she threw herself down on the floor as a new set of bullets rained into the tavern. Yet, they all watched the ignited bottle fly in an impressive arch toward the twenty or so men who stared in confusion. They had no idea what Lucy had thrown at them.

Upon impact, the cloud of fuel droplets and vapor was ignited by the attached wick which created an immediate fireball followed by spreading flames. The screams of pain and horror brought a smile to her lips. She dared sneak a peek and saw part of Forster's upper left torso in flames. His friend Westley was completely smothered by flames and darted up in a panic. He was quickly shot down, his corpse still burning as he hit the ground.

But the joy of the citizens of Hayes was short-lived. Forster's men ignited another wick and an explosion soon followed.

As Lucy stared wide-eyed — angry tears streaming down her face — she felt something wet spreading near her shoulder.

"Blake!" someone shouted as the robust woman collapsed into a heap on the floor. "Lucy's been hit! Lucy's been hit!" There was panic in that voice, but it wasn't enough to budge the old woman.

"Shut yer mouth," she quipped back. "It'll take more than a bloody bullet to kill me, lad!"

* * *

Forster doused himself in the water near the well by the far end of the square. He had been luckier than others for the flames had barely touched his flesh. Aye, there were some burns — but nothing substantial. He knew, just by looking, that others would not survive theirs.

The dust which had spread after the massive explosion upon the gates started settling and his men all gathered renewed courage.

"This will be the final fight," he roared. "And then we take Hayes!" He heard them answer, their spirits down, but the promise of looting and pillaging, of taking what they wanted, was enough for them to continue by his side. Of course, the promised money was a big factor as well.

They all gathered, all seventy of them — those who had survived the shootout with The Laughing Goose. The tavern was still now as they neared the fallen gates. It seemed they were out of ammunition or simply too terrified of what might happen to the people in the garrison. Forster and his men gripped their weapons, nearing the opening, licking their lips in anticipation.

All were ready with their muskets and pistols. Ten mercenaries were sent ahead to inspect, should it be a trap, which Forster very much doubted.

The mercenaries stood in the opening, watching the dust settle, frowning when they saw an entirely empty courtyard. They gripped their weapons harder.

"Don't just stand there like bloody fools, step inside," Forster growled behind them.

"There ain't no one there," one of them turned around to say.

"Of course there aren't! Do you really believe they would be waiting for you with open arms?" he asked.

But, for some reason, the mercenaries hesitated when stepping inside. Yet, prompted by Forster's outbursts and the chuckles of their fellow men, they entered, only thinking of their prize.

The archway to the gates was intact after the initial explosion. Walking through it, they failed to notice the two small figures atop the arch who looked to a corner of the garrison for a signal. The moment they saw it they released two large vats of a cloudy liquid and rained it on the men below. The men looked up and heard the giggles of what sounded like children. Immediately they regretted their action. The substance — whatever it was — found its way into their eyes and burned them so much that they dropped their weapons.

"Fire!" a female voice shouted firmly and, suddenly a storm of arrows was released. Most missed the men but some managed to pierce them where they stood — yet to take cover. Forster and the rest watched dumbfounded.

"Again!" the voice shouted, now with confidence.

Another shower of arrows.

Forster growled. "Take cover!" he ordered the men.

"My eyes!" one of them screamed as he clawed at them.

Angered, some mercenaries rushed in, their pistols ready to fire. But much like before, they entered an empty courtyard. Twenty men entered, standing by their wounded brothers who had fallen to their knees, practically blinded. They turned around and looked up at the archway, but behind the decorated wood and stone they found nothing.

A whoosh sounded to their left and a great ball of what appeared to be cloth or leather was hurled at them on a piece of rope, releasing its contents upon impact. Before they could react, the same object came from the left.

The contents — a murky and cloudy liquid — rendered this wave of mercenaries just as incapacitated. It had also managed to soak most of them from head to toe.

"It's lye!" one of them roared in pain. "Bloody she-devil," he cried out as he scratched at his eyes.

Those who had escaped the lye now turned to the northeast roof and saw a woman in a white dress flanked by more women — of all ages — aiming crossbows at them. Next to her, in a dirtied and wrinkled shirt, was a tall and proud gentleman with strands of gray running through his neatly brushed hair. He held a longbow, aiming an arrow at them.

"Fire!" she ordered. The arrows were released, aimed directly at the mercenaries.

Bella Swan and Willard Athar quickly switched places with the next line as they reloaded their weapons. However, the mercenaries had had enough.

They rushed in, aiming pistols, knowing that they would eventually outnumber them. The women and older men of the garrison threw themselves down on top of the roof and dragged themselves away from the unforgiving bullets. Bella was pulled inside one of the buildings by Athar as more women entered after her. Rosalie was not too far behind, holding her arm and clenching her teeth as she bit back a cry. A bullet appeared to have grazed her.

As the mercenaries started working on the locked doors, the townspeople at The Laughing Goose prepared their weapons once more, finding a few stray bullets. The best shooters gathered by the window, knowing each bullet counted.

A few men fell, but more seemed to join Forster's group.

The cause appeared lost for a large band of brutal mercenaries was now within the vast gates.

Suddenly, hoofbeats echoed through the streets of Hayes, turning many faces ashen as they believed even more mercenaries were about to join the action.

They neared like deafening drums and Forster grinned in anticipation, waiting for more of his men to join them and break open the remaining doors to the garrison. He supposed the rest of the town had already fallen.

Around the widest entry to the square came a large group of seated riders. In the lead was none other than Jacob Black, aiming his pistol at the rogues. He shot without blinking, watching one of them fall. Behind him came Jonah, Robert, Joe, Jasper, Carlisle and many more, all armed to the teeth, all jumping into the fray.

Forster's eyes widened as he ran into the garrison, yelling at a man to force the doors shut. But it was futile. Jacob's horse kicked the door open and Forster slipped in the lye as the riders rushed in, the beasts trampling him. Jonah turned his mount around, watching as the Captain of the Royal Guards gasped desperately for air. Jacob looked ready to dart from his horse and finish Forster off but one look from Jonah kept him on his steed. While Jacob and his father had been tortured by the vile captain, Jonah had lost his friends to the man. He had lost his freedom as well for when it was all over, he still had stolen for Forster and knew there would eventually be a price to pay. Jonah let go of the reins as he closed his eyes, savoring the sound of Forster's painful struggle as his life ebbed away.

"Drop your weapons!" Jacob Black growled to the rest of Forster's men. "Your leaders are dead or have given up. Do the same and we will spare your lives!"

He appeared as a wild man atop his steed, gripping his pistol tightly in his hand, a murderous yet satisfied look forming in his eyes. The mercenaries, the fifty of them who were still standing, did as Jacob ordered. They watched Forster's trampled body with broken bones protruding from his left leg and blood soaking his uniform. They knew they were outnumbered. They knew they had lost. Yet, they still gripped their weapons hoping something would miraculously save them from their hopeless predicament.

Jonah knelt next to Forster, watching as the pleading eyes of the captain begged him to end his life. "This will be nothing compared to the suffering you will face in hell," he growled. He unsheathed the knife in his belt, watching it, waving it slowly in front of Forster's wide eyes.

"P-please," the wheezing voice begged.

Jonah raised an eyebrow and stood up. "I'll commit no more sins for you, Forster."

He spat to the side with a sneer and walked away as the mercenaries watched in horror and Jacob's black eyes darkened. Hot tears of anger and frustration rolled down Forster's cheeks as he looked at the bright sky, searching for forgiveness. But he saw none.

Minutes passed as Forster lay on the cold earth of the square, his breath slowing, his eyelids heavy until the light eventually left him.

The clanking of metal traveled through the town as a stillness emerged, the brilliant light of the midday sun embracing the humble people within.

It was over.

Despite all odds stacked against them, they had prevailed.

_Hayes_ _was victorious!_

* * *

**A/N: Thanks again to Moonwinks for helping me with the edits of this chapter. **

**I am currently home with a cold :( I never get sick ughh... Anyways...here's to hoping it will go away before next week.  
**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks to all the wonderful people who reviewed the previous one!**

**Cheers!**

**Isabelle**


	35. Chapter 35

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 35_

Ashes and dust settled over the center of Hayes, particles raining down from the blue sky as the sun shone brilliantly above. A gentle summer's day beckoned the wary townspeople. It was a stark contrast to the scene that had taken place in the square below.

People, wounded or dead, dotted the square. Some took their last breaths as their lives ebbed away. However, many were those who rose from the ground, many were those who cried out for help in the warmth of a summer's day. A scent of metal and gunpowder was overpowered by the fresh summer breeze swirling across the square.

Bella walked through the rubble left from the explosion by the garrison, saw the devastation, saw the people crying from loss or happiness. She saw the blood, the wounded.

It was over.

Bella's eyes scoured the square for familiar faces, searching for her friends, fearing they had fallen. She spotted Jacob and Jonah helping Billy Black sit next to The Laughing Goose. Simmons harshly coughed as he blindly reached out for a help to lift him off the ground. Lucy, with a big and bloodied bandage tied around her shoulder, rushed to him. Thompson was directing lancers still loyal to him and the Crown, those not bought by Wilson and Forster. The lancers searched through the sea of bodies, trying to find anyone who had survived. They had prepared carts, starting to clear away the deceased.

Her eyes found the still body of Captain Forster, halfway through the blown entry into the garrison. Bella stopped for a short while, looking at the dead man, trying to comprehend that he was no more. She guiltily felt relief at his passing, her eyebrows knitting together that his actions should have caused such a sentiment. If one was gladdened by another person's death, that truly had to have been a horrible person.

She eventually walked past him, her stained and wet skirts dragging over the body as she left Forster behind, choosing to give him not one more second of her attention.

Little by little, the town came alive as people rushed out from the locked rooms of the garrison or back from their posts scattered throughout the town, helping those who had been wounded in battle. As minutes passed, Bella was comforted seeing the wounded tended to, the food and blankets passed around.

The first hour after the mercenaries had surrendered had been the most chaotic. But, in that chaos, Billy Black had stepped up and taken charge. He had organized the remaining lancers together with some still able men to clear the square. Others had been tasked with finding wounded men or women that needed tending to. Little by little, they settled into their work. Lucy's kitchen worked harder than it ever had before, preparing food to feed all within Hayes. The streets were scoured for more survivors or bodies, carts driving to the outskirts of town where some were preparing mass graves for the dead mercenaries. Those who were from Hayes and had perished would receive a more personal burial from Friar Blackwater.

After a few hours had passed, Bella was sitting in stunned silence with Jonah when she saw her mother make her way through the now dried blood on the streets. When she spotted her daughter, Renee rushed to her with arms wide, tears streaming down her face, relieved to find her daughter alive. Bella ran into the warm embrace of Renée Swan as she embraced her crying.

Jacob sat down next to Jonah, taking in the scene, witnessing the strength of the people of Hayes, of the Cadherrians. Simple townsfolk and farmers had stood up to mercenaries and trained soldiers to fight for their voices, for their lives and families. He had never seen its equal before and it profoundly touched him.

"This is Hayes, Jonah. This is Cadherra," his rattled voice whispered to his left. Jacob Black was still removing the dirt and sweat from the battle, some streaks of blood trailing down his face. He turned, his black eyes locked on the other's. "Whatever you did for Forster, you helped free us from him." His heavy hand rested on Jonah's shoulder. "Thank you."

Jonah's lips trembled into a faint smile as he looked away, his eyes growing cloudy. He quickly wiped the tears away and nodded, not trusting his voice.

As the minutes progressed, more families found each other. Charles Swan emerged from a side street, his hair in his eyes, his skin pale, his suit completely torn asunder. Some cuts crossed his body, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. Renée and Bella embraced him as a moment of silence passed between them.

Alice stepped into the embrace of her husband, as did Rosalie—who couldn't hold back the tears of worry any more. Her arm had been bandaged after the bullet that had grazed her. Esmeralda and Carlisle spoke profoundly in low voices.

Bella Swan sat surrounded by her family and the family of her fiancé without a trace of Edward. No one had seen Cullen since beyond the wall. She searched for another face in the square, finding Willard Athar's to be gone as well.

The square was now nearly full with people from all corners of Hayes, there to celebrate the bittersweet moment of having rid the town of its tyrants. Wilson was still in their possession; they had the evidence of what he had tried to do against them in the form of the captured mercenaries. Many of the mercenaries had scattered to different points during the battle. But, now, a total of 243 men were securely stored away in the cells of the garrison. Thompson was quite proud as he announced the number.

* * *

Wilson wiped away the sweat running down his temples as he paced within the room, not knowing what had transpired. He had simply heard Jacob order the mercenaries to surrender in a loud and commanding voice. Scarcely a few minutes had passed since then.

The wood creaked under his weight. The top of the tavern was entirely deserted, the staff now caring for the wounded and feeding the rest of the town.

Wilson knew all was lost, but he was still comforted by the fact that he had the letter — he could still blackmail the King. His Majesty wouldn't harm a hair on his head as long as he believed that Wilson could reveal the secret of his family.

The handle to the door turned and Willard Athar stepped in, locking the door behind him and settling on one of the made beds. He did not speak as he glared at Wilson — so much hatred stemming from the otherwise polished gentleman. Wilson found it most unbecoming of him.

"It is not over for me and you know it, Athar," he said to him, reminding him of his own importance.

Athar's white shirt, which had been so carefully pressed and starched, had worn out during the night, wrinkled, soot and mud now ingrained into the fabric. The man's gray-green eyes spoke of the untold horror they had witnessed. Yet, something else emerged from them, a settling peace that that same horror had finally passed. Wilson's words did not seem to unnerve Athar as they had before the battle, as if new information had served to calm him.

He took a chair and sat before Wilson. The latter noticed another look in Athar's eyes, as if he knew something Wilson didn't. Athar appeared to be waiting for someone, the minutes ticking by, the glow of the sun stark as it penetrated the thick window curtains.

Suddenly a sound of sliding wood alerted Wilson, causing him to turn and look to see what it was.

A dark shadow slipped through the window with great agility, closing the window behind him and drawing the curtains once more.

Edward Cullen's clothes were torn, some small cuts visible through the ripped fabric. Mud caked under his boots; some blood had splattered across his leather mask that he had wiped off quickly. Athar handed the masked man a handkerchief and a pitcher of water that had been stored for Wilson at the back of the room.

"You should not be seen as another killer in this battle, Cullen," he murmured, urging Edward to clean himself. Without a word, Cullen took the pitcher and handkerchief, wiping the exposed lower part of his face. He wiped the upper part of his chest and torso as well as around the exposed cuts.

"Forster is dead," he said after a momentary silence, the room stilling just like the town outside. He did not glance at Wilson; he didn't have to. A look passed between the masked man and Athar. They now knew what needed to be done. Before having entered Wilson's room, they had spoken for a brief moment, settling on a new strategy.

"I hold the letter, and if you harm me —"

"How many men will die, Wilson, before you accept the situation in which you find yourself?" Cullen asked, dark eyes staring at the sturdy wall ahead almost as if mesmerized by the white paint.

"The evidence you hold against me is not enough. Under a true and just court of law, I will not be held accountable!" Wilson spat. "I promise to leave Hayes and never return, but you cannot end me —"

"There is no crueler tyranny than that which is perpetuated under the shield of law and in the name of justice," Edward growled. "Which is what you have been doing all along." He clenched his fists. "Corrupting good men like Collins, killing even greater men like Ridge, and leaving men like Newton without a father. That will be your legacy, Wilson, nothing more."

Athar shuddered at the intensity in Edward's voice. It was almost as if the ghost of Edward Cullen truly spoke through him.

Wilson now stood up despite himself. "His Majesty will not let anything happen to me!" He turned to Athar. "Neither will your brother."

Cullen slowly walked up to Wilson. "You told Forster of that letter," Cullen stated.

In any other circumstance, had Wilson possessed a clear mind and ample time to think, he would have realized Cullen was fishing for information. However, the flustered and disgraced mayor fought hard to find his footing in the new situation in which he now found himself. Every word he uttered could either save or damn him. Thus, he spoke without truly thinking, not knowing it would doom him.

"No! Of course not, he could never have kept such a thing for himself! He would have babbled about it for everyone to hear and I would have lost my hold over the King," Wilson spat.

Edward crossed his arms as an amused smirk emerged on his face. "Well, he knew of it," the masked man said. "Forster knew of the importance of that letter."

Now Wilson paled. Surely that couldn't be! He hadn't shared its contents with the captain, only what he was using it for.

Athar noted the shift in Wilson's bearing just as much as Edward did.

"He was more cooperative than you have been," Edward continued in a casual manner.

A short pause followed in which the mayor was given time to process Edward's words. "You lie," Wilson growled.

"Do I look like I'm lying?" the other spat back. "He managed to find it, read it and store it away again." The gleeful expression in Cullen's lips had the mayor fighting hard for each breath as the walls closed in on him. He understood that the game was over.

"Forster was not the brave man I had expected him to be as he faced his death. Trampled by horses, I believe?" Cullen turned to Athar to ask. The other simply nodded, fighting hard to hold a neutral expression on his face, amazed at Edward's ability to convince Wilson. "We only had to poke at a few broken bones and he spilled everything…the contents of the letter, its location, who _truly_ knew of it, everything," Cullen blinked.

Wilson gulped, then licked his lips. "...and where…where is it?"

"Burned," the masked man stated nonchalantly.

"Quite burned," Athar joined in, peering down at Wilson as the mayor removed his waistcoat and cravat.

His chubby face paled as he bought Edward's blatant lie. "That bastard!" Wilson howled in an indignant scream, thinking he had been betrayed by his ally. "He must have heard it from Lord Newton the night we…_he_…" he stopped himself abruptly and looked sheepishly at the two men.

"That is why you killed Newton," Edward echoed. This was new information. Maybe Newton was the one who had held the letter in safe keeping. He couldn't ask Wilson if there were more who knew of the letter in fear of dismantling the lie he had just told him. However, Edward suspected there were no more, or Wilson would have surely told him about them. The mayor was in no state to think clearly.

A grin started splitting Edward's face in half. "I had half a mind to turn you over to the people of Hayes, for everything you have done to them." He pointed a thumb Athar's way. "However, Sir Athar had a much better idea, Wilson," the masked man blinked as he leaned forward.

Edward turned to Athar. "Do you still agree on this decision?" he asked. "There is no turning back."

Athar remembered all the bodies that had laid scattered outside. He turned to look at Wilson with disgust. "I daresay you have the blessing of the government — even the King, should he know of this."

Cullen nodded slowly, then extracted a knife from his boot. He turned to Wilson. "I disarm you of your weapon, Wilson," he growled and then rushed forth to the chubby mayor. Athar, who was not accustomed to such gruesome horror turned as Edward swiftly cut out Lionel Wilson's tongue, thus rendering him mute. He held it in his hand, staring at it, the action holding some sort of poetic justice.

"You will live, Wilson, to see yourself fall from grace. Death would be too kind for you," Edward said. Wilson clawed at his mouth in utter pain, his eyes wide in horror as he realized what had been done.

The masked man was not yet finished. There was still one thing he wished to do to the disgraced mayor. He cast the knife aside and unmasked, letting his true face show, taking in the even wider eyes as they stared in confusion.

"Never take someone for granted," Edward Masen said, letting fresh air hit his features. "Like you did Forster…like you did _me_," he growled before hiding his face once more behind the mask—

But Edward Cullen was not yet done.

The two men left Wilson to ponder his fate, walking into another room to discuss what would come next.

Athar ran shaking fingers through his hair. "Do you really think only he and Forster knew about the letter?" he asked. "We are still none the wiser about where it is. I believe we never will be."

"Did you discern his reaction? I do not believe he has hidden it with anyone, merely a place he himself knew to access — and Forster — who is gone."

"We cannot be certain," Athar said.

"No, we cannot," Edward agreed. "But would it be so bad?" he wondered, "for William Fell's secret to be known? He dictated the letter himself, Wilson said so. He would want it to be known at least at one point in his life."

"His Majesty is not ready for that secret to be revealed, that must be why he sent me to retrieve this letter, to burn it or hide it forever."

Edward walked up to him. "Only time will tell, my friend. We could try to look for it in Adelton Hall. But try explaining to young Lord Newton why we would wish access to his castle without giving away the reason," Edward argued. He sighed. "It appears the secret will remain…for now."

Athar noticed him frowning behind the mask. "It displeases you."

"History taught us that both Cullen and William were extraordinary men who did much for us and our country. Wilson wanted to twist our perception of him, but the truth—I believe—is much more than we give it credit for. We can never truly know what happened all those centuries ago. But I do not believe William played for the throne as Wilson said. Enough time has passed, I believe Angloa is ready for this…" he trailed off. "After the unrest of revolution settles."

A hand rested on his shoulder as Athar's eyes locked on his. "Not yet, my friend. It isn't our secret to reveal. It never was."

Edward's lips pressed together, knowing both he and Athar would take the secret to their graves, unless the King decided otherwise, or Wilson truly had left the letter with someone he trusted.

"It should be," he lamented.

Athar did not answer him. He had no answer to give. His personal feelings in all of this were not important. His family had served the Fells for generations. If the King wished for the secret to remain silent, then he would keep that secret.

A gust of wind swirled outside, pushing against the windows as they once more entered the next room. Wilson still lay squirming on the ground, crying over his lost tongue. Edward disappeared through the now opened window.

Athar sighed, thinking it might be a good idea to venture into the square where he had previously seen Billy Black. There was now a matter of what would follow these strange and bizarre events.

* * *

In the old square of Hayes, the townspeople gathered in the searing heat of the afternoon sun. Simmons sat under the cherry tree, his eyes distant, as if something kept passing through his mind. Many were generally quiet, most thankful it was over, others celebrating the end of the tyranny of Forster and Wilson. A few had dried tears on their cheeks after having lost someone during the battle. Yet, despite the vast number of mercenaries Forster and Wilson had thrown their way—because they had prepared—the death toll was low within Hayes. Out of the hundreds who had fought, only sixty-one had perished. Among those, seven innocent civilians had lost their lives as the mercenaries breached the gate and forced the portcullis open. Seven lives were enough to weigh heavy on Jacob's mind and he knew he would bear their loss for the rest of his life.

The warmth of the sun did him good, however. He closed his eyes as he turned his now cleaned face to be kissed by the rays of the sun. Some townspeople sat on the steps of the various houses encircling the square and Athar and Billy were in a deep discussion.

Suddenly, Wilson was dragged from the tavern by brute force and dragged through the streets. Hayes' citizens grew heated at the mere sight of him. Most looked at the man in disgust. Some hurled insults his way. Wilson was placed at the top of the steps by the entry to the Town Hall for all to see. Michael Newton stood up with the others. Now, as Lord Newton, Count of Cadherra after the death of his father, he too was an important presence in the town.

Athar, backed by Sgt. Thompson and a few other loyal lancers, stepped forth.

"Kill him!" someone growled from the vast crowd.

"Nah, 'ave 'im tortured first ya daft bastard! Tis more than 'e deserves!" a woman shouted coarsely and spat to the side, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt.

Athar put up a hand to silence the crowd. They listened.

"In order for His Majesty to not send another army here due to a misunderstanding, I am obliged to take Lionel Wilson with me to Safeira, together with Lord Newton. The evidence that has been gathered against this man, accompanied by Lord Newton's testimony, is enough to sentence him a hundred times over."

"He'll just coerce 'em in Safeira, twist the words as he did back at 'is estate yesterday," another voice sounded.

"I believe he will find it difficult to speak, seeing as he does not have a tongue," Michael intercepted dryly, not able to help a grin forming on his lips. "Courtesy of Cullen, I believe."

The laugh extended as a loud cheer erupted. People looked around, curious to find the man of which so much had been spoken. Yet, he was not there.

Joe shook his head, supported by Robert as he had taken a shot to the leg. Still, he would not be bedbound now when so much was still to be decided.

"We fought for our freedom from Forster and Wilson, but now we stand facing a bigger threat than before — not knowing what will come next, who will be sent next to take charge of our town," Robert said heatedly.

"I'll not be livin' under another Wilson," Joe growled. "Hayes sacrificed much, we've lost people, some are wounded fer life. We need an answer of what'll happen now!"

Athar swallowed hard. It was an answer he was not able to provide. Then, a presence neared him as Billy slowly stepped forward, supporting himself on his crutch, walking calmly up the steps and turning to the sea of people.

The town settled as he took center stage. "We fought because we had no other choice. But we did not fight for a simple ideal, to change the structure of our country or our government — to depose the King or to execute all aristocrats," he said. His words evoked a reminder of the terror that had taken place on the streets of Paris.

"We fought," Billy continued, "because two greedy and power hungry men disregarded every notion of decency, filled their souls not with love and friendship but with power, greed and lust. I am not saying there are not more men like them — that more men like that will not come to Hayes. But I am putting into perspective what we stood up against. I never spoke out against His Majesty or Safeira. I spoke out against Forster and Wilson. My friends, people of Hayes, if you insist on this path that I see you heading down, let it be known that what Athar says is true. There _will_ come an army, larger and more organized than Wilson's hired mercenaries. And they will silence us like they silenced the towns up north."

Joe shook his head. "And the next man they send? The next mayor? Will he turn against us as Wilson did? Will he not be corrupted as well? How can we ever trust someone comin' from Safeira or Wessport ever again?" he asked, looking at Athar. "I mean no disrespect against ya or yer good name sir, but we've suffered enough. We'll not hand over our hard-earned freedom to another man chosen by the noblemen of Cadherra or Safeira again!"

Many shouted in agreement.

Suddenly hushed whispers spread across the space. Necks stretched to the east as they spotted a lone rider entering as the dust settled further. The dark outline of a shadow broke through the haze together with the stark sun.

Edward Cullen in the flesh rode into the square among gasping people and glittering eyes. They stared at their liberator, at the man who had started it all.

Cullen dismounted and walked up the stairs to the Town Hall. There was no doubt that he had silently been listening to the whole exchange from a distance, not wishing to interrupt or disturb it until this moment.

Many pushed forward just to catch a glimpse of the myth. Much had been speculated about the man in the mask, much had been guessed. But here he stood before them all, the statue that had been built centuries ago to commemorate him on the other side of the square. Larger than life he was. Fresh out of battle.

Bella, standing in the shadow of the cherry tree, next to the looming statue, stared at him and grew warm at the sight of him. She sensed a presence past her shoulder and glanced back, catching Carlisle Masen's wide golden eyes, unshed tears threatening to fall as he saw his son, truly saw _who_ he was and _what_ he had done. Pride unlike Bella had ever seen before in Carlisle made her heart soar even more.

Edward walked up to Jacob and watched his ally for a moment. "What say you, Black?"

"Joe and Robert have spoken well, Hayes and Cadherra will not have a tyrant," Jacob growled. "Men like Wilson who abused his power, who used us as he pleased, have no place here."

Michael Newton nodded. "Although I have not been among you for a long time, having hidden from Wilson and Forster, I…agree." His words astonished all. In the back of the crowd, Edward was certain he could hear the delighted exclamations of Jessica Stanley. He fought hard not to roll his eyes.

Willard turned to them. "It is true that the provincial council of Cadherra will elect a new mayor for Hayes after I have explained everything in Safeira." He paused, choosing his next few words wisely.

"I cannot promise you what type of man the council will send. I agree, reformations within the parliament and government have needed to be made for some time. I believe you — the people of Hayes — have set that in motion. But if you will not accept whoever the council sends..." Willard Athar trailed off and took in the waiting faces. He saw hardened expressions, people with hope in their eyes, people who were tired, people who'd had enough. "_Then choose your own_."

At first there was stunned silence as all processed his words.

Lucy let out a loud snort. "Wha', like 'em yanks 'cross the pond?"

"In the legal treatise of 1572 published under King Edmund Fell, a town may choose its representant by popular vote if the individual holds more than seventy percent of the county's approval. Furthermore, if that is the case, that the representant is so chosen by the people, it overrules whatever say the provincial council has in that matter. It would be further backed were the Lord of the county to approve it in parliament. Only the King himself may speak out against such a decision. Thus, a representant may claim the office of mayor," Willard said.

"The provincial council would never recognize a law that is more than two hundred years old," Jacob argued.

"That argument falls short when the fact that most of the executions that are issued in this day and age follow laws and regulations that are much older than what I have just mentioned," Athar defended. He turned to the people of Hayes. Edward saw the kindled fire in many eyes as they started to realize that their future and the future of their children might be a bright one.

"And who would submit to such a thing? Who would represent us?" asked Lucy.

Conversations soared after her statement, some stepped forth but were quickly booed down. It would be hard to find a candidate. The masked man's eyes searched the square until he settled on the one person standing right next to him. The buzzing noise of wagging tongues faded, and it was only the two of them.

He turned to the man with certainty on his face. Many fell silent again as hawk-like eyes drifted to the man in black. Cullen came to stand before Billy Black who was still leaning on his crutch.

The masked man remained silent; his shrouded eyes glinted as a small tug of his lip suggested what he was thinking. Billy shook his head.

"Me? No, no, I have no larger concept of politics, of the law…I—"

"_You_ stood up against Forster just down the street from here. _You_ spoke out against the raised taxes when you knew it would starve families, when you knew people hadn't enough money for even a piece of bread." He paused. "You did so _without_ a mask, my friend."

Billy grew flustered as he shook his head vigorously. "But _you_ had a more severe impact, you fought Forster when I couldn't. My actions almost got me killed—"

"_You_ started this rebellion, Billy. You took the first step, I followed." Edward smiled. "And I think _you_ would have the people's best interest at heart. You would not be blinded by lust for power and wealth because you have a personal connection to this town, you are honorable – a good man, a just man. You have taken it upon yourself over and over to defend this town despite what has been thrown at it. You never ran away Billy, even when the chance was presented to you…you stood your ground. Those are the qualities of a true leader."

"Hear, hear!" some men shouted. More joined in.

Billy watched as the crowd cheered for him, how they applauded him. They had decided, they had chosen him. Michael Newton walked up to him. "You have my support, sir, if you wish it."

"Billy Black," Willard Athar said with a crooked smile breaking through his otherwise arrogant and proud exterior. "When I am done in Safeira, I shall return and help you in matters of politics if you wish to take this post."

Billy's mouth opened and closed several times as he frowned. "But I…" He was at a loss for words. "How could I—"

"With the same gusto as you always have, father," Jacob encouraged. "We have to start somewhere."

His compressed lips and stark eyes softened. Billy chuckled as he sheepishly looked at the inhabitants of Hayes.

Bella, watching from a distance, hoped desperately that he would accept.

Billy turned to the crowd. "We will work together, to turn Hayes into what it should always have been!" he told them.

Hope. Hope and a sense of ease radiated through the people of Hayes. It wasn't the final solution, but it was a step in the right direction. The man who had started their small revolution would continue it. Cullen was right, they needed Billy Black.

The ghost of Raven's Grove had done his share.

Slowly, the man in black drifted toward his horse as the conversation resounded across the square. Awaiting faces now looked to the future with renewed fervor.

He seated his mount, suddenly catching a glimpse of her among the crowd.

"Wait!" Billy said as he hurried to the end of the step.

Edward turned his stallion around, the only mounted man in the entire square, appearing large as life.

Perhaps, some thought, he was a man of flesh and blood after all, a reincarnation of the real Edward Cullen. The statue by which Mr. Simmons sat, however, stood — an echo from the past. Whatever the masked man was, he had saved them; he had fought, bled and sacrificed for them as much as Billy had. They all knew it, they all _felt_ it in their hearts.

Billy extended his right hand as if motioning to the town. "The battle is over, Wilson is defeated, there is no threat here anymore," he said. "You…you do not have to hide yourself from us anymore, sir."

Edward couldn't help himself as he stared at the pommel of his saddle and softly chuckled. Hayes awaited in anticipation for his unmasking.

He felt as if the heavens were staring down on him harshly, as if the true Cullen was there next to him in spirit. Edward already knew what he had to do...he had for a long time. He had never done this for glory, for honor. He had stepped forward because no one else would.

His emerald eyes found Athar's, an unspoken truth — a truth only they knew — passed between them.

"It isn't my secret to reveal," the man in black said. It was short, simple. "It never was."

He gave a hasty nod to Billy, Jacob and Michael. Then he turned his stallion around, and a path opened through the throng. Edward nudged his horse forward, slowly passing by the stunned spectators. They watched the black beast calmly make its way to the edge of the square until it came to a halt by the blooming cherry tree. He looked to the horizon for a long moment, until finally turning to her.

The gnarly branches of the tree threw soft shadows over her form, flecks of sunlight dancing across her exposed skin. The wind picked up her dress and it swirled about her. A moment of silent solace surrounded the two. Edward Cullen gave a nod of acknowledgment to Isabella Swan. She let herself smile and then gave a deep curtsy back. The unspoken bond between their two namesakes hung heavily in the air as the man in black suddenly urged his stallion into a canter, quickly making for the edge of the square.

Some followed him and saw him head for the gates, riding past them and onto the fields. In the meadow, becoming one with his animal, reveling in the scented breeze of summer and the warmth of the sun, he understood Bella's love for the land.

Some watched as the tendrils of Raven's Grove swallowed him — likely for the last time. Her son had returned home once more for his final rest. They understood, in a sense, that they would not see him again.

Edward Cullen, it seemed, had returned to the grave from which he had risen.

* * *

**A/N: I am terribly sorry for the long wait for this chapter! I am so torn... there only remains one chapter after this one and then the fic will be over. I'm happy about finishing yet another fic...but I'm sad to see the adventures of Bella and Edward to be over once again... Maybe that should be remedied...? ;) **

**I thank all of the people who reviewed the last chapter and am happy you liked it. I hope you have enjoyed this one as well. A special thanks to Moonwinks as always for helping me with editing this chapter! :D**

**Cheers,**

**Isabelle**


	36. Chapter 36

**AUDEAMUS**

_Chapter 36_

The heat of a summer's night surrounded Collins as he reflected within his cell. His eyes wandered to the empty courtyard, remembering all that had taken place there. Despite his situation, a faint chuckle escaped him. In the distance, the night patrol strolled by and spoke in hushed voices.

Collins rested the back of his head against the wall as he listened to the murmurs of the July night, unable to sleep. Tomorrow he would be transported to Safeira and kept in another holding cell until his execution. He squeezed his eyes shut. Impersonating an officer was a condemnable offense, but it did not warrant his life. Collins supposed someone had to be the scapegoat after the death of Forster. Getting away from Hayes would be a breath of fresh air, as the quaint town was finally free from the tyranny of Wilson and the cruelty of Forster. Collins would not partake in that freedom. His secret — his ugly past and theft of another man's name — had gotten out. Everyone knew he was Miller now, a name that no longer fit him. While some scorned him, a handful of Cadherrians managed to develop a faint trace of sympathy for him.

Even Bella.

She had come to see him a couple of times. But she had been distant in her attempt to understand him. Maybe, deep within, she would forgive him. Maybe he too would one day.

Collins' eyes sprang open as he looked at the starlit sky. He knew Cullen had disappeared forever. He knew he didn't deserve it, but he truly hoped the masked man would make one final rescue.

Footsteps cut through Collins' reflection but he didn't bother to see who it was. A large silhouette of a man emerged as Sgt. Thompson placed a stool and seated himself in front of the cell. In his hands, Collins noticed a small bowl of broth and a piece of bread. In the fold of his arm, Thompson held a bottle of wine.

"From Lucy's?" asked Collins.

"I had her cook prepare her best stew." Thompson retrieved something else — what looked like a basket.

"These were meant for me, but I believe you should try them."

He handed him the basket and Collins caught the waft of minced pies.

"Dory, the Masen's cook, makes the best minced pies in the area!" Thompson exclaimed as he uncorked the wine and poured it into two cups.

Despite everything that had happened, Thompson still treated Collins with respect, as if he still was his superior officer.

Collins bit into one of the pies, not out of hunger but as a gesture of appreciation toward Thompson. "Thank you," he said as he looked down at the dirty floor of his cell.

Thompson nodded stiffly as he took a big gulp of his wine. He looked around as if waiting for something.

"You...you do not have to tend to me like this, Thompson," Collins said after an awkward silence "I do not deserve it."

"Maybe," Thompson agreed. "But what is done is done."

Collins downed his entire cup, expecting Thompson to pour him another one, but the bottle remained by his side. Two small eyes peered at Collins.

"You will always be Major Collins to us, sir."

"You should take care, Thompson. You never know who might be listening to you."

Thompson shrugged as he took another sip of the wine. "Do you really think they'll execute you in Safeira, sir?" he asked.

"I don't see why not," Collins sighed, taking a spoonful of the stew and dipping the bread into it.

"You seem awfully calm, sir."

"I have come to terms with my sentence." He noted that Thompson was still looking around as if waiting for something. Collins put down the bowl. "What are you waiting for, Thompson?"

The sergeant shrugged. "For Cullen. I've been waiting for him for weeks now."

A hearty chuckle escaped the prisoner. "Good one."

But there was no smile from Thompson, only a serious expression as he pressed his lips together. "Why wouldn't he come?"

"Because Cullen only rescued the innocent," Collins sighed. "I played a part in Wilson's and Forster's plans." He fiddled with the wooden spoon in his hands.

"You were blackmailed."

"But I still willingly helped."

Thompson shook his head. "I don't think you are a bad person, sir."

"Thank you, sergeant," Collins smiled. "But it is more complicated than that." He looked at the bolted garrison doors in the distance. "Cullen will not save me and I have come to terms with my fate. So should you."

Thompson emptied his cup as he got up. His large and rotound form blocked the silver beams of the moon momentarily. He paused, looking up at the immense sky. "For once, I want to do what I feel is right," Thompson said, his words barely above a whisper.

"Then do not worry yourself so with me, sergeant. It is what it is."

Thompson cast a glance at him before heading away, leaving Collins once more alone in the darkness. The fresh scent of the eve washed over him and his mind took him to the woman that occupied his waking thoughts. Collins wished he could have a final and private word with her, but he knew she would not visit again. She hadn't for almost a fortnight — ever since the news of his execution in Safeira was made public. Maybe it was for the best.

The hours ticked by and he eventually found himself on his back with his eyelids heavy. He had one final sunrise in Cadherra to look forward to before he would leave forever.

It wasn't until the early morning hours, when the rustling of keys and the creaking hinges of his cell door sounded that Collins darted awake, looking around in confusion.

By the entrance of his cell stood a large shadow. The weariness in his eyes did not allow him to clearly see who it was, but Collins had a wishful guess as the stranger pushed the door wide open.

"Cullen?"

The moon peeked out from behind a cloud as Collins' eyes widened.

"We have waited enough, sir. It seems you were right," came the subdued voice of Sgt. Thompson as he further pushed the door open.

Collins rushed up to stand. "What has gotten into you?"

Thompson fiddled with his fingers. "Well, sir, if I have learned anything from this past year it is that one should take matters into their own hands. If Cullen will not come to free you...then someone has to!"

"You could be shot for this, Thompson." Collins shook his head. "I would not wish you dead because you helped me."

A hearty chuckle emerged from Thompson. For the first time, Collins noted that the usual night patrol was absent and the bolted doors to the garrison stood ajar.

"I'll only be in trouble if you say it was me who helped you, sir."

In his hands he held a small sack, handing it over to Collins. "A fresh set of clothes, sir. The saddlebags have some food to last you at least a few days."

Hesitantly, Collins left the cell, his eyes scanning the deserted courtyard, finding that a saddled horse was tied to the pole by his old office.

"If you take the western gate, you'll find the path cleared."

Despite himself, Collins' eyes watered slightly as he turned to Thompson. He wanted to ask why, but found himself unable to speak. Thompson had never been good with reading people. But on this night he appeared a changed man, as if he understood the silent question Collins was asking.

"Because you believed in me, sir. You treated me as a soldier...when so many others treat me...well...as they do," Thompson responded with a shrug. "I do not know much of honor…I am not as brave as Cullen or Mr. Black. But I knew Forster. He blackmailed you sir, very few people could have stood up against that."

"You shouldn't call me sir, anymore, sergeant," Collins whispered. "I am only Mr. Miller."

Thompson shook his head fervently. "To me you will always be Major Collins. It doesn't matter what you were before."

Collins squeezed the fabric of the sack, a deep and shaky breath escaping him.

"If you don't mind me asking, sir...what will you do?"

It was a good question, something Collins hadn't pondered. "I...I don't know." He didn't have anything to return to, no home to go to. His face was known in the bigger cities, which he would have to stay away from. He looked to the horizon, toward the north, where Raven's Grove lay. "Maybe escape to the forest for a few days," he finally said.

"And then?"

Collins thought not knowing about his future would frighten him, but he found it strangely exciting. He had been given another chance at life by the most unexpected person.

"You have given me a fresh start, Thompson. I will not squander it."

* * *

The carriage pulled up to the opened gates, cascading sunbeams raining down on the traveler as he squinted against the warm light. Birdsong intermingled with the rustling leaves of the trees. Flowers, leaves and grass swayed lazily in the July sun.

Wilson's estate would forever be tainted by association with him. But its new inhabitants had sought to restore it to polite society. The scandal and confrontation which had rocked Hayes spread like a shockwave throughout Cadherra and Angloa.

Billy was helped down from the carriage by one of the servants. He looked at the polished façade of the whitewashed cluster of houses, chuckling to himself as he leaned on his cane.

"We were not aware you would come so early, Mr. Mayor!" Joseph said as he rushed outside to greet Billy Black.

The newly elected mayor of Hayes waved lazily with his hand. "An impromptu visit, Joseph. I hope I am not disturbing…"

"Mr. and Mrs. Masen are having breakfast in the garden. I shall take you to them."

He showed Billy through the house. The latter noted the now modest furnishings; the lavish paintings and textiles were gone. Wilson had lived in excess; the new inhabitants chose comfort and simplicity. He walked past the ballroom with Joseph, reminded of the confrontation his son had described. Billy could not begin to imagine what had truly taken place in that room, but he was happy with the outcome of it.

They reached the gardens at the back, a small terrace leading to a green field where tall cypress trees enclosed it. He had never been to this part before. There was some quaint garden furniture placed close to the house near a fountain which trickled quietly in the middle of the garden. The birdsong grew and Billy squinted his eyes as he stepped out into the sun once more. He removed his hat and pushed his newly shorn hair back. He had abandoned his long locks as a way to bid a final goodbye to his past life. Billy, like so many others, now looked to the future and the progress and change it promised.

Isabella Masen was seated opposite her husband, smiling as she lovingly looked at him while sipping a glass of apple juice. They had scarcely been wed six weeks, and the couple spent every waking hour in each other's company. She released a carefree laugh at some remark he had just made and took another sip. Edward Masen looked carefree too, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

The day Cullen disappeared into the woods after the battle, he was never seen again. The myth of the ghost of the general had only grown stronger and Hayes proudly spoke of his aid to them in their darkest hour. Billy, like some of the more astute townsfolk, had noted how young Mr. Masen's countenance had changed since the disappearance of Cullen. While many attributed it to his relationship with Mrs. Masen — for, indeed, she had managed to turn him into somewhat tolerable — others were not so certain.

The fop was gone.

As if he had never existed.

Another man seemed to have taken his place. He was more relaxed, more carefree. There was no arrogant or sardonic undertone to his speech anymore. He had shed any pretense of exaggerated manners and etiquette. His nose no longer pointed towards the sky. Edward Masen had taken to sports like riding and fencing, which he had previously shown a great distaste for. His nasal speech had all but faded away and the tall and starched cravats had completely disappeared.

"Mr. Black!" he heard a gentle female voice exclaim. The warmth expressed brought a gleam to his eyes. "Back so soon from Safeira?" she asked as he sat down to join them. Edward asked Joseph to prepare a plate for Billy as well.

"I returned yesterday evening but was too tired to make my way here. I hope you will forgive me," he apologized.

"We did not expect you to come here immediately upon your arrival," Edward said.

Billy held the warm cup of tea, looking at it absentmindedly. "I wished to see Jacob, and in my tired state I forgot that he had left Hayes." Something akin to sadness touched Billy's voice.

Bella leaned forward and placed her hand over his. "We miss him too," she murmured. "But I believe it was good for him to leave Angloa for a while."

"It is good that he has decided to travel with Jonah and discover the world beyond Angloa," Billy agreed. However, the loneliness in his eyes was apparent. How much they would miss Jacob hung unspoken.

Bella leaned back. "I understand that things are changing ever since the people of Hayes disregarded the provincial council of Cadherra and elected you mayor."

Billy nodded. "Aye, but it never would have happened if Lord Newton had not stepped forward with his support."

"How are things in Safeira?" Edward asked.

Billy sighed. "I laid out my proposal for some changes in the administration of Hayes to the Grand Assembly. I do hope it gets to His Majesty. Frankly, I am glad not to be working in the capital. It is too complicated and messy for my taste. Had not Sir Athar and his brother been there to help me, I fear none of my work would have even been considered." He drummed his fingers against the table as if deep in thought. Two yellow butterflies danced past them in the air.

"What of Wilson?" Bella wondered after a while, staring down at her half empty cup of juice. Little had been heard of the disgraced mayor of Hayes.

Billy's fingers stopped drumming. With his recommendation, Wilson could have been sentenced to hang. Yet, Billy never chose that option. Black eyes watched the swaying cypress trees as if mesmerized by them.

"He was taken to the prison in Leste, northwest of Castell."

Bella's nostrils flared slightly. Edward kept still, a frown working its way onto his face. His eyes darted to a lazy cloud drifting by high up in the sky. "And what now?" he murmured, mostly to himself. "What becomes of us, of Hayes, of Angloa?"

"We lead by example and hope that more towns follow. This is a step in the right direction." Billy paused. "Cullen told me he was but a man in a mask, that when the confrontation with Forster and Wilson was over, the real fight would begin. He was right… about it all," Billy chuckled. "I do not think that there could be any place in the local government for a man in a mask. At least not in this day and age."

Suddenly, they were interrupted by Joseph as he came out into the garden, accompanied by another man whom they all instantly recognized. They were surprised to find Willard Athar there, ever polished and graceful with an arrogant look gracing his features and his graying hair neatly combed back.

"Sir Athar is here for you, Mr. Masen," Joseph announced.

"Athar?" Billy blurted. "I thought you would arrive tomorrow!"

"You knew he was coming?" Bella asked.

Edward stood up and went to shake hands with Athar as if they were old friends. He turned to his wife and the mayor of Hayes. "Will you excuse us?"

Bella nodded slowly, casting a glance Billy's way, only to find him equally confused. They watched as Edward and Athar disappeared into the house.

When they were in the ballroom, where Cullen and Athar had confronted Wilson with the evidence, Athar let out a snort. "Really now, Masen, _this_ is the estate you chose to settle in?"

Edward shrugged. "It's a damn fine house, if I say so myself," he said with a charming smirk. Athar had not seen Edward since he had ridden away that day in the square dressed as Cullen. The way he acted now was different, but he liked it. It was as if the true Edward Masen had finally been unmasked and deemed it timely to step forward.

"I am sure Mr. Black has already informed you about Wilson," Athar said as they took a slow stroll about the room.

"That is not why you are here," Edward answered, looking straight ahead.

"We have not had any luck with the letter," the other continued. "I am afraid it will be lost forever," he sighed.

Edward stopped. "Maybe it is for the best, my friend. No one else has stepped forward to pressure the king?" he wondered.

"No one. I believe Wilson never shared its contents with anyone save us, under duress."

Edward nodded, his lips pressing together firmly.

Athar clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head to the side in an almost mocking manner. "I haven't told anyone about you, Mr. Masen," he blinked.

"I never believed you would do so," Edward said.

Athar's eyebrow rose slightly. "Really now?" He took in the man before him. As he was now, the way he carried himself, how he spoke, how he acted, Athar could believe he had been Cullen. He was certain more in Hayes might arrive at the same conclusion. Yet, not even as much as a whisper about Masen and Cullen had been heard. Athar suspected Hayes would fervently protect one of her own.

"What about her?" Athar asked, his eyes shifting to a window, glancing past the thick wisteria vine framing it. Their eyes looked past the garden, catching the figures of Bella and Billy in a pleasant conversation.

Edward took another deep breath. "I haven't told her about the letter...the secret." He turned to Athar, emerald eyes drilling harshly into him. "But she was as much a part in this as I was. One day I will tell her, Willard. One day she will also know the secret of Cullen and William Fell."

"You said it yourself, it wasn't your secret to tell," Athar warned.

Edward shook his head. "Without her, none of this would have been possible," he argued. "Besides, I find it kind of fitting, don't you?" he blinked. "That Isabella Swan should know the secret as well."

Athar couldn't help as his harsh expression softened with the tugging of his lips. "I am sorry I missed your wedding," he said, deciding on changing the subject and leaving it behind. He knew Bella was trustworthy and honorable and would keep Cullen and William's secret.

"Oh, no worries, dear friend," Edward laughed. "Besides, I hear Michael Newton is getting married next month to Miss Stanley. You must have received an invitation."

The color drained from Athar's face as they proceeded to the gardens yet again. "Heaven spare me. I only hope that lad knows what to expect from the Stanley family."

"I believe he fancies the young lady," Edward mused.

"Then he must be blind," Athar muttered.

"Aye but love is blind, my good friend!" Edward laughed. He settled down as he turned to his friend. "My family and in-laws are coming to stay later this week. Would you do me the honor of spending some weeks here with us and revel in the peace we have achieved?" Edward asked, his hand on Athar's shoulder.

"Of course!"

They let their conversation settle before Edward frowned, bringing up a less pleasant subject. "Did you hear about Collins on your way here?"

The shadows in Athar's face had indeed grown. "I was told by Sgt. Thompson when I stopped briefly in town," he stated. "How did Isabella take it?"

"I thought she would be nervous at first. But considering what would have happened to him, she appears relieved…" Edward muttered.

Athar arched an eyebrow. "I take it you have no say in the matter?"

"I think she has forgiven him…to an extent. Yet, I do not think myself capable of forgiving him for what he did in our townhouse. He risked her life...he did not listen to her wishes and thought only of himself in that moment."

"From what I understand, Collins spent ample time with Friar Blackwater during his imprisonment. Blackwater himself told me he had seen the errors of his ways." Athar almost chewed on his lip.

Edward frowned. "I do not think I could ever trust him." He thought he might have seen something in Collins once, a man who stood up for morals and wished to help others. But after what he had done to Hayes and his family, even under threat, Edward could not forgive him.

"I understand," Athar nodded. "But do you really believe that he deserves to be executed for it?"

"Were it not for the information he gave us concerning Wilson's mercenaries, we might not be standing here. I do not believe he deserves death, but he shouldn't go free either. It is strange that Safeira would sentence Collins to die but allow Wilson to live."

"We all believe the greatest punishment Wilson can receive is to be locked in a small and cramped cell, having lost everything and having to live out the rest of his life in that knowledge. But they felt that Collins should not be allowed to live at all, that his death would set an example…at least within the military. They couldn't sentence Forster, so they sentenced Collins in his place." When Edward stared at Athar, the other shook his shoulders. "I agree...it is not just."

Edward's eyes drifted to Bella, watching her as she laughed with Billy.

Athar inched closer. "I know I shouldn't ask and that it is obvious but…_you_ didn't have a hand in his escape, did you?"

Edward arched an eyebrow and let out a chuckle. "You know, you're not the first to ask me that question..." His eyes remained steadfast on his wife. "I was as surprised as the rest of Hayes." Emerald eyes locked on gray-green ones. "I did not have a part in it."

"Then…_who_ did?"

"Does it matter? Someone in Hayes felt Collins had been wrongly sentenced. But instead of merely voicing their opinion, they decided to take action. Or maybe he really managed to break out by himself. While Sgt. Thompson has much improved since I first arrived, he and his soldiers are still…lacking. Breaking in and out…tricking the Royal Guard — considering how thinly spread they currently are — wouldn't be difficult." Edward leaned forward. "Speaking from experience of course."

"Well, I hope he comes to his senses and leaves Angloa. If he is recaptured, there will not be a second chance."

"I hope so too…" Edward agreed, his eyes narrowing on Bella.

* * *

There was a stillness settling in Hayes, as if the harsh tyranny they had lived under Forster and Wilson had never occurred. While some families had lost loved ones to the battle for Hayes, they rejoiced in the knowledge that their future was brighter than before. Under the leadership of Billy Black, everything had improved. Taxes were lower than they had been in almost three years, and people could afford to put food on their tables once more, reveling in the feeling of a full stomach. Hayes turned into the picturesque town it should always have been. There was no fear of the Royal Guard anymore. Sgt. Thompson had taken over as commandant of the garrison until a new captain could be appointed.

That night the town was still, the lazy summer breeze drifted by and a joyous song stemmed from Lucy's tavern as Thompson and his lancers celebrated in unison with some townspeople. Joe, Robert and a handful of others were there, joined even by Billy as they delighted in mead and lively company.

Beyond the cozily lit tavern and the enclosing walls of Hayes, exposed on the naked meadow outside of the town and staring at some faint stars in the sky, rode Collins. He didn't know where the horse was taking him as he let it roam freely. He had left Raven's Grove as soon as the sun dropped behind the western horizon.

One person came to mind. A face: two eyes and a soft mouth smiling at him. Collins had one final thing he needed to do before leaving Angloa.

His horse sprung into a canter, the sensation of true freedom strange to him. The burden of his secret was gone as it had been revealed, and as his eyes wandered up to the stars, he couldn't help but smile. The impact of his actions would, of course, forever haunt him. What he had done with Wilson and Forster would forever remain in his mind as a stain against what he had once strived to be.

The array of elegantly whitewashed houses stood like an island on a green sea of grass. He had visited this place many times, realizing this might be the last time he would see it…see her.

In the garden of her home, Isabella Masen walked alongside her husband in silent reflection. His hand rested on her waist, now that no prying eyes could scrutinize them.

In the dark velvet of night, soft silver beams of the moon touched her face as she turned to him. Her eyelashes cast deep shadows on her cheeks as she glanced down. The breeze carried with it a faint perfume of the night as it softly kissed the exposed skin of her arms and neck. Faintly, they could hear the echoes of hooting owls, the crickets playing their tune and the dancing leaves of Raven's Grove in the distance.

Edward's hand came to guide Isabella's face to his, finding that she was blushing. He looked deeply into her endless eyes, his thumb lightly caressing her lower lip, as if wanting nothing more than to take it with his own.

"What goes through that mind of yours…I wonder," he whispered to her as his other arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her in even closer than before. Her body pressed softly against his, their contours molding together, and a satisfied sigh escaped her.

"Wondering...thinking."

"About?" he asked.

She looked pensive for a while as her eyebrows knitted together. "In the square," she said as she looked up at him. "Why..._didn't_ you unmask?"

In one quick action, Edward could have received the admiration of the entire town for his feats, probably the entire kingdom.

"Because, despite what I did, I broke the law."

Bella scoffed. "So did Mr. Black, so did half of Hayes."

"No, Bella, I _really_ did break several laws. I broke Mr. Black and Jacob out of prison, instigated townspeople against the local government. Mr. Black was falsely condemned of treason, it is not the same. Cullen took on the heavier charges and if I had unmasked and some government official wanted to, they could have incarcerated me like they did Wilson."

"Athar would never let that happen, nor would His Majesty."

"I wouldn't take my chances." He released a tight lipped smile. "That is why I can never reveal it was me behind the mask."

A look of understanding entered her eyes as her face split into a wide grin. "Then I am grateful."

"Grateful?" He brushed a stray lock from her face.

"That it ended like it did…that you are here…with me," she smiled. His eyes glittered like the stars above them as his lips tugged at the corners. Edward murmured in satisfied agreement as his lips sought out the exposed skin at the base of her neck. Bella shivered at his touch.

"Anything else you are grateful for?" he whispered in that delightfully velvet voice she had come to love. She knew he was teasing her, driving her mad until she herself dragged him to their bedroom.

"I'm grateful that Hayes is free," she continued as he worked his way up her neck agonizingly slowly. "I'm grateful that Mr. Black is mayor…that Jacob and Jonah get to travel and see the world…that Sgt. Thompson is acting commandant of the garrison…that Mr. Ridge and Maria's deaths have been cleared." Her breath hitched in her throat as Edward kissed her earlobe.

She frowned suddenly, gently pushing him away. "And… there is one more thing I am grateful for…or rather, glad about," she confessed, her manner growing distant, as if she was expecting a harsh reaction from him.

"I am glad that he escaped," she said boldly, not wanting to feel apologetic about her feelings. "Collins did not deserve to be executed."

Edward's face remained a stoic mask for some time.

"No, he did not," her husband finally agreed. Something in his eyes sparked. "But he did much damage, Bella."

"But he repented, in the end. And…he is gone now."

Edward understood her sentiment, just as she understood his.

A sense of ease settled between them. Bella had wished to reveal her sentiment ever since Collins had escaped, she just hadn't found the right time. But, when indeed had it even been a good time to tell such a thing to her husband?

That was why she loved him so; with Edward she was allowed to think for herself, to make her own choices and stand by them. He respected her in a way Collins never would have.

The peaceful quiet of night enveloped them once more, Edward and Bella gazing at one another in silent reverie. Her eyes glistened, her pulse loud in her ears. She was reminded of the times she had spent with him as Cullen. Indeed, it was as if Cullen had returned to her, without the mask now. Bella couldn't believe her good fortune...that she should have ended up with such a wonderful man.

"I love you," she sighed.

"I know," he murmured back before his lips slowly came down on hers. Edward savored their kiss at first until it grew deeper. He kissed her as if he had just come out of the desert and she was the drop of water he so desperately craved. Their tongues danced in their mouths as their breaths increased. Her arms came up around his neck as she playfully nibbled on his lower lip.

"And I love you too, Mrs. Masen," he whispered back, burrowing his face in her chestnut locks as he closed his eyes. He reveled in the feeling of finally having her—not as Cullen—but as himself, as Edward Masen.

Suddenly, he tensed, the uneasy feeling of being watched washed over him. Without alarming her, his green eyes quickly scanned the area until he saw a man staring at them from atop the wall.

Edward's and Collins' eyes met for a brief moment, one waiting for the other to react. Collins watched her nestled in the arms of her husband, content. She had gotten the life he could never give her—the life she deserved. And he saw that she would be happy by Edward's side. Yet…after everything, Collins' heart broke in two, knowing she had never been his for she would never have melted in his arms like that.

The display of grief, understanding and acceptance displayed clearly in his eyes — all for Edward to see. He finally understood why Collins was there, to say a final goodbye before he no doubt left for someplace far away.

Collins gave Edward a stiff nod, as if urging him to always care for her. Maybe, in that same nod of acceptance, he too asked his rival for forgiveness for what he had done to him and his family.

Maybe.

Edward hugged Bella closer, her sigh of comfort sending a shiver through his body. In Collins, he strangely perceived something of himself — a man that had so dearly wished to be more than he was, a man with strong ideals and a notion for justice that was trampled by greedy and powerful men. Edward could have found himself in an equal situation had Wilson or Forster ever found out who truly hid behind the mask of Cullen before their downfall. Thus, he gave his rival a similar nod, as if acknowledging him — as if acknowledging the man Collins had strived to be.

And, just like that, Collins disappeared. Like Cullen, he too vanished from Edward and Bella's lives.

Her hand came up to his chin, shifting it so that he was gazing down at her. "Edward?"

"Yes?" he said, startled after the strange and silent conversation that had passed between him and Collins.

She frowned. "I said that we should retire for the night. It's late and your family will arrive quite early tomorrow."

His brow arched as he cast a boyish grin her way. "Sleep? But I'm not tired, my love," he blinked.

She stood up on the tips of her toes and placed a soft lingering kiss on his lips before wordlessly heading back to the house.

Heat stirred in Edward as he watched her silhouette make its way toward their home before rushing after her.

* * *

Bella clasped her hands in her lap, leaning back against the beige settee. The open windows to the salon let the fresh air in. On the glass table before them Sara had placed a pitcher of lemonade and some cups for them to quench their thirst. The wisteria vine which framed the back façade of the house swayed gently, the scent of freshly cut grass intermingled with citrus and cypress, reminiscent of the time she had spent in Zafra, reminding her in a sense of the Mediterranean.

"_Where_ is he?" Emmett growled, shooting out of the sofa opposite the women, looking around frantically. "It's been hours since he left with Lord and Lady Masen!"

"Sit down darling and for the love of God calm yourself," Rosalie snickered. "You always look like a brute when the veins in your forehead pop. I am certain my parents and brother shall soon return."

"Yes, but…the grounds _are_ vast, Rosalie," Alice filled in, sending a grin Emmett's way. "It wouldn't surprise me if they didn't return until nightfall."

"Nightfall?" Emmett exclaimed. "I'll not wait until nightfall. I have been practicing for this sparring match for weeks!"

"You will get your rematch," Rosalie sighed. She pointed at her husband. "Now, sit down!"

Jasper raised an eyebrow, sipping contently on his lemonade as he blinked at Alice. Bella's hand went to shield her mouth from the smile that spread across her face.

"Mrs. Masen?"

They all turned to find Sara standing in the round-arched opening. "Yes, Sara?"

"Sir Athar has arrived from Safeira with his equipage. To which room shall I send his belongings?"

Bella lit up as she heard Athar's name. "Oh, how splendid! Send him to the second room of the west wing, next to where my parents will be staying. But show him in here, I can take him to his rooms later."

Sara curtsied and left.

"Is it such a good idea for Sir Athar to be in the near vicinity of…your father?" Emmett asked tactlessly.

"Oh, a wonderful idea, I should think. While papa can be…quite _intense_ at times, mama and I have delighted in the fact that the two of them get along strangely well. They seem to both have an affinity for chess. Besides, papa loves hearing of Safeira, even the dull mundane events taking place. And Sir Athar appears to enjoy speaking of them to him."

"Only because your father, for one, is a good listener!"

Athar entered the room with a proud and arrogant bearing. He looked as refined and polished as when she had last seen him, when Billy Black had come to visit.

"It was meant as the highest compliment, sir," Bella smirked.

His haughty expression softened. "Had it come from anyone else, madam, I would have taken offense. But having heard it from you, I am flattered," he said as she approached him. Athar bowed over her extended hand.

"We are delighted that you will join us, sir," she said.

He looked around as if searching for someone.

"My husband went early this morning with his parents to show them the extensive grounds."

"They have been gone for _hours_," Emmett added with a sigh.

"My husband also promised Mr. McCarty a duel in the patio once he returned. I think we all should find it _immensely_ entertaining," she said with a twinge of sarcasm and nasality to her voice, mimicking Edward. It stirred a laugh in the rest of the group.

They sat down and commenced a lengthy discussion about Jessica Stanley and Michael Newton. Jessica's relationship with Bella had greatly improved after the battle for Hayes. She was still vain, mildly annoying and took a lot of energy and space. But her treatment toward Bella had softened. Michael's influence seemed to refine her.

A few hours passed and the rest of the family soon returned. Carlisle spoke of the wonders of the estate that had now been renamed after the Masen family. Both Carlisle and Esmeralda said the entire family should venture out on a picnic if the good weather held.

"But only after Bella has shown us Raven's Grove thoroughly," Jasper added. "Last year when we arrived you promised us a grand tour of the forest. Due to all the circumstances, we never really found the opportunity for it. I think it is highly proper we take you up on that offer again."

"Oh yes, wouldn't that be lovely?" Alice agreed. A roguish grin split her face in half. "You could show us where you and Edward would meet up in secret!"

The statement caused Bella's cheeks to flush madly and Edward to clear his voice several times. "W-who said we ever met up in Raven's Grove?"

"Oh, we have a feeling you did," said Jasper.

"Speaking of which, you will have to beg my pardon for my inquisitive and curious nature but…I _must_ know how this whole masquerade came to be," Athar said. "I have been wondering for weeks now, trying to make sense of it."

"So have I," Emmett agreed, deeming it acceptable to wait a few more minutes to hear Edward's story before fencing him. "Especially Rose's part in it." He side-eyed his wife as she hid her flustered cheeks behind her pink fan.

"I certainly do too," Esmeralda said.

Edward cleared his voice with some lemonade, wishing he was drinking something stronger. "Where to even begin," he murmured, looking around as if to make certain no servant was close to overhear them. While Cullen was gone and they were safe, he still would never openly declare being the man behind the mask.

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Alice asked.

Edward downed his lemonade, his eyes quickly glancing at the ceiling as if praying to a higher power for this to be over quickly.

"Well…I never really _planned_ for it to happen..." A long pause followed as the air grew tense with expectation. Then Edward started speaking, and the more he spoke, the easier it became for him.

"It was a year and a half before the eventual collapse of the French monarchy. My first years at the university, I spent immersed in my studies in everything from science, philosophy to literature. I took fencing lessons as well, taught by wonderful professors. I made many friends. I was happy there, I learned much. News of what happened in Paris reached us, of course. One of my best friends was a Frenchman…a Parisian. He wanted to return to his family to make sure that they were safe as news of unrest escalated." Something flickered in Edward's eyes. "I went with him."

"There, I found a sense of unease of which I had never felt before. My friend wanted to stay with his family, but I tried to convince them to flee with me — either to England or to Angloa. This was before they started using the guillotine, before they executed the monarchs. I suppose it is easy to ask someone else to leave their home. Had it been me, I would probably have remained as well."

He sighed, leaning back on the sofa. Many eyes were downcast as they recalled the news they had received from the mainland. People couldn't begin to comprehend the horror that was happening in the glamorous French capital. But news that the streets of Paris ran red had everyone talking and appalled at such treatment, especially people within the Angloan aristocracy. The lower classes of Angloan society were divided. Some thought it a blatant waste of human life, an atrocious act that should go punished. Others could, to a degree, understand. There had been famines years before the uprising, people weren't getting enough food while the king and queen lived in excess in Versailles.

"I didn't return to England. After what I had seen in Paris…realizing how shut in I had been at university—even in Angloa—I wanted to discover_ the_ _world_ I lived in_, immerse _myself in it_. _But such a thing was not possible sitting on a bench in a stuffy lecture hall or reading a book. Thus, my travels took me to Italy. I spent the better part of a year and a half studying rigorously under a fencing master. He was a drunkard," Edward paused, "and probably the best teacher I ever had."

Edward looked apologetically at his parents. "I am sorry that I led you to believe I was still in England. I don't think you would have approved."

"We would not have," Carlisle agreed with a curt nod. But he refrained from further interrupting his son, keen on hearing what came next.

"I made friends with many people, learned skills I never thought I'd have any use for…One time I broke a friend from prison. I was clumsy and inexperienced, but I managed to get him out. There was something about it that thrilled me. I do not know whether it was the excitement of breaking the rules or the idea of getting caught — but I saw it as an adventure. I did it a few more times, getting better and better, until I eventually failed at one point and had to flee the province."

Edward looked down at his hands. "News of a war against France eventually reached me as I was headed for Bordeaux to find a ship home. I got caught up in the conflict of '91, right at the end of it."

"You were at war?" Esmeralda exclaimed with wide eyes, unable to believe her child had been in the midst of such a horrid situation.

"I never fought as a soldier. But I was witness to the battles. I saw dozens of Angloan ships fire at the town and the town fire back. Many men lost their lives in the span of a few days. There were no ships going to Coldwick or Wessport, but I found one for Plymouth. Soon I was back at Oxford and back to my studies. But after what I had seen, the two years I had spent abroad, I…I couldn't return to my previous life. At the university, most students spend half their time at gatherings and balls or gambling and the other half recovering from the effects of excessive alcohol consumption. Many didn't even go to the lectures but sent people who they paid to take notes for them. I… didn't feel like I belonged in that world. I was a humble Angloan, cast into a stuffy society I didn't quite understand, the amount of ignorance most fops and peacocks expressed was _alarming_."

"Well, brother, touring the continent, exploring its cultures and hidden wonders is _très à la mode_ now. I hear more and more are doing it," Rosalie added in a sarcastic tone. It coaxed a strained laugh from Edward.

"I had lost contact with my French friend. Thus, in the spring of '93, when news of the atrocities committed in Paris reached me, I went there, hoping to find him and whisk his family away. I arrived to find that his family had fallen victim to the guillotine. My friend was nowhere to be found." Edward's hands had entwined as he leaned forward. "I—" he sighed, shaking his head as his eyes grew into an empty stare. "There was a lot of blood spilt, many lives lost for no real cause. I had seen people suffer of starvation the last time I had been there. This, I suppose, was their long overdue revenge." He cleared his voice, the room completely silent as they hung onto his every word.

"I decided to return to Angloa, hoping to find peace here. I spent another few months trying to find my friend from abroad, but as we came into 1794 and winter turned to spring, I surmised that he had fallen victim to the guillotine like his family. The spring of last year I wrote a letter to Rose, letting her know that I had been in Angloa for a few months but to keep it a secret. I was still processing the supposed death of my friend," Edward continued. "I had no strength to meet you all and explain the entire situation."

Rosalie jumped in. "I told him that mama and papa had purchased a townhouse in Hayes. It was his idea to go there before coming to Safeira," she said.

"I arrived by ship in Coldwick and heard strange rumors about a certain captain and his treatment of Hayes. Something, call it intuition, a reflex, made me disguise myself as I arrived in Hayes for the first time. After bearing witness to the type of man Forster was and the way he treated Hayes, I decided to remain incognito for the time being…just until you — my family — were all here." Edward raked agitated fingers through his hair. "I started spying on Forster and his soldiers…thinking I could report him to the authorities in Safeira if I gathered enough evidence."

"You were the drunkard spending the days in Lucy's tavern, weren't you?" Bella asked.

"No one pays much attention to a poor drunk," Edward nodded. "The day Billy Black spoke out against him on the market square I was there, I heard every word, I saw the conviction in his eyes." Edward frowned. "I saw the pain and suffering in those listening to him, the need and want for change, much like people had desperately wished for a change in France. I didn't want Hayes to end up the same, but I also didn't want this town to lose hope when it was already so scarce. When Billy was thrown into prison — the only man who dared to speak out against Forster — I knew I had to do something. Men like Forster don't allow men like Billy Black to live for long."

"What if you had failed attempting to rescue him?" asked Alice. "What if you had been imprisoned as well?"

"Then we might not be sitting here now," Edward said. He looked at Bella. "I am glad I saved Mr. Black."

She lingered with her gaze on him. Had Edward never decided to act, Forster and Wilson might still be ruling over Hayes. She and Edward might never have had the time to form an acquaintance, the strong bond which had emerged between them both in and out of disguise. "So am I," she said.

"When I decided to rescue Mr. Black, I never intended to disguise myself as General Cullen. I found some dark rags and used some soot and grime to hide my features, I covered my hair with a black bandana and hoped that no one would recognize me. I must confess that I went to Coldwick and stole a stallion from one of the smaller landowners." Before his father could protest, Edward interrupted him. "I have returned him now, mind you. I couldn't very well keep him as Edward Masen lest the entire countryside find out who I am."

"I think some already suspect," Bella mumbled, patting his thigh. "Even if they haven't said anything…" She kept thinking of Lucy.

"I cannot keep something I intended to borrow." A small laugh overtook him, recalling the night he had saved Billy. "I hid Mr. Black away in a small hut in Raven's Grove. I washed up and returned to Hayes to see the damage I had done and to see if anyone had recognized me. I uh…I was quite astonished when Mr. Simmons spread the word that _Cullen_ had been the one to rescue Black. I decided to use it to my advantage. I acquired better clothing and a mask that would cover my entire face and head yet allow me to move and fight freely."

"What about the persona you created when you returned?" asked Emmett. "Whose genius idea was that?"

Edward glanced at Rosalie.

She grew flustered and Esmeralda was the quickest to speak. "I am astonished you would keep such a secret from your own family. Your brother might be thickheaded, Rosalie, but I never thought you would be as well."

Rosalie shrugged. "I thought it made sense." She gestured at Edward. "You spoke of what you had seen in Hayes, of Captain Forster and the brutes that made up at least half of the Royal Guard. If Edward returned to us as _himself_," she said as she pointed at him, "he would raise immediate suspicion. A new young man from out of town that had studied science, philosophy and fencing at Oxford and abroad would most assuredly land him in Forster's prison. If Edward truly wished to have an impact, I told him he would have to disguise himself in daylight, at least until things calmed down in Hayes."

Her reasoning made sense to the rest of the family. "Had I not followed my dear sister's advice, I would probably—as she has stated—have landed in Forster's prison."

Silence settled in the salon, only the breeze coming in through the open window and the clock on the mantle of the fireplace next to them could be heard.

Edward cleared his voice after a while, sensing that the mood in the room was becoming rather subdued, pensive even. He cast a glance Emmett's way. "Well, brother…I understand you have been practicing for some time now?"

Emmett perked up immediately on the sofa, grinning widely. "Last time you caught me off guard, Masen, it will not happen again."

Edward stood up. "I like the confidence, my good man, but I think it will do you little good."

Both Rosalie and Bella rolled their eyes as their respective husbands started unbuttoning their coats and heading for the patio.

As the rest of the family headed out after them, Athar walked alongside Bella. "Has Mr. Masen expressed any thoughts on what he wishes to do next?" he asked under the pressing heat of the afternoon sun.

"You wish to steal him from me and take him to Safeira?" she chuckled.

"He has strong convictions which could be put to good use helping us in the government. Or he might wish to pursue a military career..."

"I think you would have to speak with my husband about that, Sir Athar," Bella said.

Emmett and Edward faced each other, stripped down to their shirts. They had foregone the protective vests and masks used for fencing.

"Do you not think he will be restless here?" Athar asked.

"Maybe, but I think, after the year we've had, he might need some peace and calm. Perhaps, in the future, he might think of a political or military career," she said. "Although, knowing how unconventional he can be, I wouldn't be so certain."

Emmett and Edward crossed blades, waiting for a signal to start their duel.

"The world needs more men like your husband…" Athar trailed off. "And Billy Black, Jacob Black, Lucas Ridge and Maria Haste" he continued.

The clash of steel interrupted their conversation as Emmett and Edward commenced fencing. The smile on his face as he sparred with Emmett warmed her heart.

"And Willard Athar," she added.

"Oh, come now—"

"You have done just as much, sir. Should my husband ever go to Safeira, I suspect he would only do so on the condition that he would work closely with you."

"I will not be in Safeira for some time," Athar said. "I am to be sent north to deal with the aftermath of the uprisings there and bring stability to the region."

"I wish you all the luck then, Sir Athar," Bella said sincerely.

An exclamation of defeat and disappointment rocked the courtyard as Edward sent Emmett's sword flying through the air and caught it, staring him down with his infamous Cullen grin.

"Again?" he asked, throwing the sword to Emmett.

His brother-in-law caught it and squeezed the hilt as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His scowl of defeat turned into a grin as well.

"Again!"

* * *

**A/N: First of all, I would like to apologize for the big delay in posting this final chapter. This hiatus was completely unplanned on my part, I had planned to get the chapter out before Christmas but time just ran through my fingers. I'd therefore like to thank you immensely for your patience! I'd also like to thank the readers to reached out to me via PM, your messages were heartwarming 3  
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and thus the end of this fic! Speciall thanks to _Moonwinks_, my beta. Without her this fic would not have been finished now in January, I can assure you, so show her some love too!**

**Now I take a break from the world of Angloa and move on to other projects I'm currently planning (don't worry though, we'll definitely return to Angloa ;) ). I have a few stories in the pipeline, I don't know when those might be posted however, this time I'd want to be sure that I'm happy with the end before posting the fic (and not do a bunch of rewrites, thus delaying my posting schedule!). I'll probably post updates and such on my (much neglected) Tumblr page, I hope to have something out around May-July but that's being very ambitious, it all depends on how much free time I have now that I've gotten a new job with more responsibilities.**

**Finally, I'd like to express my deepest gratitude to you all for being such wonderful readers! Your reviews certainly brighten my day and knowing that so many people have read this fic makes me so endlessly happy! So _THANK YOU__!_**

**I wish you a good start to 2020 and hope to post something on here soon!**

**Cheers for now,**

**Isabelle**


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